


No, Thank You, John

by thealphagate_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-13
Updated: 2006-03-13
Packaged: 2019-02-02 07:23:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 54,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12722169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealphagate_archivist/pseuds/thealphagate_archivist
Summary: Relationships change.





	No, Thank You, John

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the archivists: this story was originally archived at [The Alpha Gate](https://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Alpha_Gate), a Stargate SG-1 archive, which began migration to the AO3 in 2017 when its hosting software, eFiction, was no longer receiving support. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are this creator and it hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Alpha Gate collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/thealphagate).

  
Author's notes: None  


* * *

Chapter One

There were some days when it just didn't pay to get out of bed, Jack reflected, and unfortunately, today was turning out to be just such a day. In spades. It had started out like any other day when SG-1 was earthside and between missions. He'd spent the better part of the morning catching up on paperwork and finishing up the mission report from their most recent gig, a straightforward and downright boring mineral survey on P3R-461 completed two days earlier. He'd been winding up the report and contemplating tracking down Teal'c to see if he wanted to do a bit of sparring in the gym, when the summons came to report to General Hammond's office.

A summons to Hammond's office was not, in and of itself, any reason to be alarmed. As 2IC of the SGC and senior team leader, he interacted with the General virtually every day he was on base, so he was hardly surprised that Hammond might have need of him. It wasn't until he arrived at Hammond's office proper that he realized his day was about to take a drastic turn for the worst. He rapped on the doorframe of the open door, requesting permission to enter when his eyes fell on the figure sitting across from Hammond.

Daniel.

Jack's gut tightened and he felt a sudden rush of adrenalin, a classic fight or flight impulse. Daniel's presence clearly indicated that this was not going to be a standard commander to 2IC conversation and suddenly all kinds of scenarios rushed into Jack's mind to explain Daniel's presence, none of them good.

"Come in Colonel," Hammond beckoned, snapping Jack out of his anxious reverie. "Take a seat."

"Sir." Jack acknowledged as he entered to room, his posture tense and wary. Jack sat in the proffered chair, giving a tight nod and a somewhat mumbled "Daniel" to the room's other occupant. Daniel's return greeting was every bit as stiff and uncomfortable, redolent with the awkwardness that pervaded all of their interaction of late.

"Well, now that you're both here, we can get down to business." Hammond began. "I'll make this as brief as possible. The Pentagon has been paying close attention to our activities over this past year. That's nothing new, of course, but with recent developments, notably the death of Heru-ur and the sudden reemergence of Osiris, they are increasingly concerned about the state of affairs out there and want to form a better idea of the kinds of threats faced by the SG teams when they walk through the gate.

"To that end, they have requested the presence of members of field units to come to the Pentagon for a series of meetings to discuss the specific dangers you face out there and to consider possible strategies, resources, and additional personnel that might help in future missions."

Jack was getting a very bad feeling about where this was going and his suspicions were confirmed moments later when Hammond shifted his gaze, looked directly in Jack's eyes and said, "I've decided to send you and Dr. Jackson as our representatives to this meeting."

Shit!

"Sir..." Jack began, hoping against hope that he might be able to wangle his way out of this but knowing that it was damned unlikely. He got no further than that one, plaintive syllable before Hammond cut him off.

"Colonel," he said, his voice soft, but firm, "not only are you the team leader of SG-1, the flagship team of this command, you are also the 2IC of this facility and the senior team leader. In that capacity you have played a singular role in developing and training new teams. Many of the current team leaders were selected on your recommendation. Frankly, colonel, I'd say you are without question precisely the man they need to talk with."

"I don't see why I would be needed, seeing as I'm a civilian." Daniel offered tentatively, obviously as desperate to escape the impending schmoozefest as Jack himself.

Jack couldn't help but think that that was a very good point. Once again, Hammond had his response formulated and articulated before any real protest could be lodged. 

"On the contrary, Doctor, it is precisely because you are a civilian that your input is important. I don't have to remind you that there was a certain degree of...resistance to the idea of including civilian specialists as part of what were conceived of as military field units. Over time, however, that attitude has changed, in large part due to your participation. The Pentagon recognizes that our civilian personnel bring unique skills that complement those of the military personnel, skills that have proven invaluable on numerous occasions." Hammond explained. "And like Colonel O'Neill, you have recommended people to participate in this program in your capacity as a senior civilian consultant."

Jack was suddenly uneasy, smelling a potential set-up. If the Pentagon types were looking for scapegoats....Jack glanced over at Daniel who appeared to be every bit as wary and as skeptical as himself. Hammond rushed to put their minds at ease. "I have been assured that the conference has been organized by persons favorable to this project and its current direction. The goal is to find ways to make it function even better and to keep out people as safe as possible."

He opened his mouth once again, but before he could speak, Hammond continued. "Jack, you know as well as I do that while this program has some staunch supporters, the President first and foremost among them, it also has its detractors. There are those who consider our goals to be too benevolent, too...soft. Those individuals advocate a more aggressive approach. They want advanced technology and they don't really care what they have to do to get it. These meetings could be instrumental to the ongoing success of this facility and its future. This isn't some kind of punishment," he explained, quirking one eyebrow in Jack's direction before continuing. "Quite the contrary. I have selected the two of you because of your proven commitment to this facility and to the ideals the SGC stands for. I'm counting on you, gentleman, and I know we couldn't be in better hands."

Jack swore silently to himself. Hell, after a rousing speech like that he knew he had no choice but to go to DC and make nice with the suits. He hated that, hated it with a passion, but there was no way he would let Hammond down, not with so much riding on this. He snuck a glance at Daniel, seeing the same mixture of frustration and grudging acceptance in his expression. Daniel hated politicians almost as much as he did, but like Jack, he knew what was at stake here and he would do whatever was necessary for the good of the SGC.

Hammond smiled, clearly recognizing their silence as a sign of acquiescence. "Here are your briefing packets," he said handing each of the men a thick, laminated folder. "It includes an outline of the meetings planned, your itinerary and travel arrangements. You leave tomorrow afternoon."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?!"

Jack and Daniel shared a quick stunned glance before focusing their attention to their commanding officer. "Sir," Jack began, a new protest forming in his mind, "I thought we were scheduled to go to P9X-544 tomorrow?"

"That mission has been postponed for the time being. I'm sure you agree that this is meeting in the Pentagon is far more important."

Jack's eyes narrowed in suspicion. A briefing packet? A sudden invitation to the Pentagon? No, that didn't add up. The boys in DC didn't do anything spur of the moment. Hell, Jack was fairly sure they scheduled taking a piss a week in advance. This could mean only one thing: Hammond had set them up. This seemingly impromptu meeting had probably been planned months ago and Hammond had waited until the last minute to spring it on them to guarantee there was not way for them to weasel their way out of it by doing something inconvenient like going on a mission or getting laid up in the infirmary, or getting killed, all of which sounded more appealing than this trip to the Pentagon. 

Jack spared another glance in Daniel's direction. The younger man was frowning, his forehead creased in concentration. Yep, Daniel had figured it out as well. They'd been set up, well and truly, and there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it. Jack could almost admire Hammond's deviousness were it not for the fact that he was the one who had to suffer because of it.

"The meetings will begin on Wednesday morning and will continue for three days. Your next mission briefing will be on Tuesday morning at 1100 hours." Hammond smiled again, a soft, almost paternal smile. "I know you'll do this facility proud. Good luck, gentlemen. Dismissed."

Daniel fairly bolted from the room making a beeline to his office where he could bitch and vent in private. Jack heaved himself from his chair in front of Hammond's desk and walked slowly to his own office. 'Three days with bootlickers, pencil pushers, sycophants and policy wonks.' His gaze drifted down the corridor in the direction of Daniel's office. 'And three days alone in DC with Daniel.' Jack sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair. No doubt about it, this was definitely one of those days when it didn't pay to get out of bed.

* * *

Jack adjusted his headphones to fit more comfortably over his ears before jabbing at the channel selection button in his armrest, trying to find something more bearable than the "hot new sounds" currently assaulting his eardrums. He finally found the soothing strains of "Pellas et Mlisande" He turned up the volume and settled back to enjoy a bit of Debussy as he considered his current predicament.

He was glad they had flown commercial rather than by military transport and was more than a little surprised the bean counters were flying them business class. It certainly made things a bit more bearable, he reflected, taking another sip of his Scotch. Jack couldn't help but smile wryly at the thought of how impatient he'd become with conventional air travel. When you could cross light years in the space of seconds, the five-hour flight from Denver to DC seemed annoyingly long by comparison. But if the flight itself was relatively pleasant, the same couldn't be said for the company.

He glanced for what felt like the hundredth time to the man seated next to him and reflected on how different this trip was from others they had taken together over the years. Daniel was absorbed is reading a book, not some diverting, frivolous paperback by Tom Clancy or Stephen King, but a real honest to God book; hard-backed, heavy and filled with weighted, serious words. Nothing new in that, of course. What was different this time around was the complete lack of conversation. Daniel had barely said two words to him since the staff car had arrived at Cheyenne Mountain to take them to the airport. They had exchanged the obligatory greetings, a casual comment or two about the weather and that was it. Daniel remained cool and distant, seemingly unperturbed even as he refused to meet Jack's eye. 

This was the current state of affairs between the two of them. They existed in a constant state of tension, moving through an interpersonal minefield of long, painful silences barely relieved by brief, awkward and completely superficial conversations. The connection between them that had once been so strong, so sure had eroded to the point of being virtually non-existent. Where once there had been trust, there was now wary resentment and bitter hurt. And worst of all, Jack knew it was all his fault.

There were some lines that were never meant to be crossed, some risks that should never, ever be taken. Jack had always considered himself a smart guy, someone who knew the dangers of getting too involved. He knew, he understood, but still he'd done it. For one night he had put all his rational, reasonable concerns aside and had crossed the line, given in to reckless insanity and now he was left struggling through the wreckage of a ruined friendship.

His mind cast back to that fateful, disastrous night, much as it had so many, many times over the course of the succeeding eight months. While most memories tended to fade with the passage of time, this one did not; everything about that night, every detail, every word, every taste, scent and touch was captured with disturbing clarity, etched with the precision of a laser...

 

// It had happened just after that whole business with the crystal skull that had shifted Daniel out of phase. Had it not been for Nick who had the unexpected ability to communicate with Daniel thanks to his own encounter with a similar crystal skull twenty some years before, Daniel might have been lost to them forever, doomed to wander like a ghost, lost and aimless and unacknowledged. 

They had all been elated to have him back within the fold once more. It felt like another miracle of the kind that only SG-1 could mange to pull off. Sam had clung to Daniel, wrapping her arms around him as if she would never let him go again. Hammond had clasped his shoulder warmly pronouncing "its good to have you back, son," while Teal'c had nodded, his usual gravity lightened by the broad smile tracing his lips. Even Janet had been unusually effusive, hugging him, then shooing the rest of the team away so that she could examine her patient. After a very thorough examination she had pronounced him exhausted and dehydrated but otherwise physically fit. She'd asked if someone could take him home, and Jack had volunteered without hesitation.

On the drive home Jack had watched his companion from the corner of his eyes. Daniel had been silent and withdrawn ever since his release from the infirmary. He was slumped against the car door, his body half turned away, the seatbelt twisted, as if trying to pull away and retreat further within himself. Jack studied the other man's features reflected in the glass of the car window. Daniel's face was pale and expressionless but his eyes were strangely haunted. Jack wasn't sure precisely what had caused the anguish residing in his gaze, whether it was the stress of his recent ordeal, the stark fear of being lost and alone, bereft of human contact and comfort, or the joyous rediscovery and the subsequent repudiation of his wayward grandfather.

For his part, Jack couldn't understand Nick's decision, could not comprehend someone casting aside the bonds of family, the solid reality of flesh and blood in favor of a quest for something as intangible as knowledge. He couldn't understand how Nick could have inflicted such a hurt upon the eight-year old Daniel and he certainly couldn't understand how he could do it again to the grown-up Daniel. Daniel said he understood, but Jack had his doubts. Nick's return and departure had to have opened up old wounds, ones that ran so deep that Daniel had never so much as alluded to them in the three years they had known one another. Daniel guarded his secrets jealously, and his private hurts had always remained just that: private. Jack had come to realize that it wasn't modesty or introversion or a vague fear of dependence that dictated his reticence, but rather an unwillingness or even an inability to cope with his personal heartaches. He kept them buried deep, hidden from the light of day and completely removed from the realm of words where Daniel resided because there was no other way for him function. Seeing Nick only to lose him once again must have savaged those wounds anew.

So Jack had taken Daniel home to offer him the comfort of warmth and silence and hard liquor. As they sat before the blazing hearth in Jack's living room drinking whiskey and watching the shadows play in the darkened corners of the room, Daniel had begun to speak, haltingly at first, as if he had somehow forgotten the skill, and then with greater ease, his tongue loosened by the warmth of the liquor within his belly and the fire beyond. Daniel spoke of the feelings of abandonment that had haunted him in the wake of Nick's rejection, the confusion and anger of a lost little boy that had never been fully laid to rest despite all the rationalizations his adult self could muster. He spoke of the bitter resentment at Nick's scorn of his theories, another repudiation, as grievous as the first. And he spoke of the fragile understanding that had blossomed between them before Nick stepped out of his life once more, possibly for the last time.

Jack had refilled Daniel's glass, the amber liquid gleaming in the firelight. He didn't speak himself, recognizing Daniel's words as a long overdue and much needed catharsis. He remained silent and let Daniel speak, safe in the knowledge that he wasn't alone, that he didn't have to carry the hurt by himself. 

Then Daniel had spoken of what it had felt like to be out of phase, to be surrounded by people and yet be completely and utterly alone within their midst. It was the loss of the sense of touch that had disturbed him the most, he'd confessed. Daniel would reach out his hand, and it would simply slip through solid matter, sliding through concrete and steel and flesh and bone as easily as a fish through clear water. It had been terrifying, walking the corridors of the SGC as a wraith. It had dredged up so many other painful memories from his childhood, the hours spent in the offices of Child Services as harried social workers complained and fretted and worried about what to do with little Danny Jackson, completely oblivious to, or simply uncaring about, his presence in the room. He'd been a wraith then too; alone, unacknowledged and untouched, drifting through the foster care system like so much flotsam carried along by a strong current. No one had touched him then either, he remembered. Everyone had been so circumspect, so reserved and so bewilderingly different from his demonstrative parents. Gone were the showers of kisses and cuddles that his mother bestowed upon him, gone were the tickling and the bear hugs and the piggyback rides that his father loved to give. Touch became something proscribed. Over time, he had trained himself to survive without it, at least until Sha're had come into his life and had taught him anew the wonder of it.

Jack watched and listened as Daniel spoke, his voice soft and low, just above a whisper. The haunted look was back in his eyes and Jack felt a pang at the sight of it. The younger man looked so small and so terribly vulnerable right now, his shoulders slumped and head bowed, his now empty glass clutched in both hands. He hated seeing Daniel like this, he couldn't stand the grief and the loneliness that clung to him like a shroud. Without thinking, Jack reached out to touch Daniel's face, his fingertips trailing down his cheek, along his jaw, lifting his chin so their eyes could meet. Daniel's lashes were spiked with unshed tears that glittered in the soft light. So much hurt in that gaze, so much longing. So much love.

It was then that the madness took hold of Jack. His right hand moved to cup Daniel's cheek, his thumb lightly brushing his cheekbone and then he leaned in to kiss the other man. Daniel's eyes widened for a heartbeat, then they fluttered closed, his chin tipped forward in silent invitation. 

The first kiss was a simple thing, a fleeting touch of dry lips, a soft exhalation of warm breath. Nothing more. Jack pulled back slightly and then shifted forward once more. This time the touch was lingering, as Jack pressed his lips more firmly against Daniel's. Daniel's lips were so soft, yielding and molding to his own. His tongue flickered out, lightly tracing the lush lower lip, reveling in the softness, the sweetness of it. Daniel's lips parted in response and Jack's tongue slid inside, gliding across teeth and palate, winding around the other man's tongue. 

The second kiss was poignant and achingly sweet. Jack could taste the whiskey lingering in Daniel's mouth, feel the slight rasp of stubble against his cheek, smell his sweat and the faint scent of his aftershave an the stronger scent of the liquor he had drunk. Daniel's arms had reached up, sliding around Jack's shoulders, his hands winding into the thick hair at the back of Jack's skull, deepening the contact. Jack's cheeks were damp and he suddenly realized that Daniel was crying, tears of grief or joy or release, he didn't know but Jack's heart lurched in his chest. His arms instinctively tightened, pulling Daniel's pliant body against his own, crushing the younger man in his embrace. He released Daniel's mouth and traced the salt trails of tears along his cheeks with reverent lips and tongue, murmuring between soft kisses, "Danny, Danny."

It was like a mantra, or the soundtrack to Jack's personal madness, he didn't know which and he frankly didn't care. In this moment in time, there was only Daniel, nothing else existed or mattered. Jack wanted more, he wanted all of him. His kisses became fevered, desperate, his lips moving across his jaw, down his pale throat, tasting the salt on his skin tinged with the flavor of smoke from the fireplace. Daniel arched his neck in response, sobbing his need as Jack quested for more skin. His hands began to tug at Daniel's shirt, his sudden dizzying hunger overwhelming the last shreds of control and common sense. He could hear Daniel's soft moans, the sound of his own name gasped out between rasping breaths. He couldn't stop now, he didn't want to.

They pulled at one another's clothes, grasping, greedy, needy hands ripping and tearing and tugging until both bodies were exposed to the flickering firelight. Jack lowered Daniel to the floor, tenderness warring with urgency and then he lowered himself until he was stretched out above him, his weight braced upon his elbows.

"Beautiful," he whispered his voice full of wonder, as he nuzzled behind Daniel's ear. "You are so fucking beautiful, Daniel." 

Daniel shivered in response to the touch and the words. He reached up and twined his hand in Jack's hair, pulling his head down into another kiss, this one searing and breathless as Daniel tried to consume him completely. Jack's hands began to caress Daniel's body, moving in long, sweeping strokes down his ribcage, his exposed flanks, his thighs. Daniel began to move beneath him, his body writhing. His legs slipped apart, allowing Jack to settle between them as he swarmed over Daniel's body in a flurry of lips, tongue and teeth. Daniel moaned and bucked upwards and Jack could feel the younger man's erection pressing into his belly, even as his own lay throbbing and weeping against Daniel's.

They began to move together urgently. There was no rhythm just driving need, and a hunger that could only be sated by the other. Sweat slicked bodies slid and pulsed together, limbs tangled, sighs and moans were traded like kisses as they raced towards completion. Jack knew it couldn't last. No sooner had the though passed through his mind then he felt the exquisite tightening in his balls that signaled the onset of orgasm. He bucked his hips, grinding into the body beneath him and then he felt Daniel stiffen and cry out, his semen spurting between them.

Daniel's climax triggered his own. He sobbed out Daniel's name, burying his face in the other man's shoulder as he came. He clung to Daniel as his body rode the aftershocks of pleasure, feeling Daniel's body vibrating and trembling beneath him.

They lay like that for a long time, sprawled and tangled, sweating and gasping and wonderfully satiated, the only sound their harsh breath and the occasional pop of wood from the fireplace. Finally Jack lifted his head to gaze at the flushed, tear stained and thoroughly contented face of his friend. He opened his mouth to speak, having no idea what he would say, but there was no need. Daniel simply raised a finger to his lips and shook his head, a sweet, tender smile tracing his bruised lips. "Later," was all he said before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

Jack lay nestled against Daniel's chest, listening to his heartbeat, feeling the warm puffs of air against his neck before succumbing to slumber, the single word "later," floating through his mind like a promise and a benediction.

* * *

Jack awoke with a start. He and Daniel were still lying sprawled and tangled on the floor in front of the fireplace. The fire had long since died out and the room was now chilled and dark, illuminated only by the slivers of moonlight that stole through the crack on the drapes. He'd roused Daniel who awoke dazed and disoriented from a combination of slumber, alcohol and intense sex. He'd pulled the other man to his feet and guided him to the bedroom, tumbling him down to the bed left unmade from the night before. There was a full moon that night and the room was bathed in silvery light, like hoar frost at dusk. Jack found himself casting a fond and proprietary gaze to the man spread naked and willing before him, his body pale in the moonlight spilling through the gap in the curtains. They made love again on the rumpled, wrinkled sheets, kissing and touching at leisure, building the arousal by degrees until Daniel was insensate with desire and Jack wasn't far behind. He took Daniel in his mouth then, a new experience, but one he had enjoyed. They came again crying one another's names and it was so good, better even than the first time. Daniel lay curled up in his arms, his moist breath ticking the hair on his chest as he slept, lulling Jack, pulling him along. No words had been spoken, not yet. Daniel was right; that was for later.

But "later" proved to be an elusive thing. They awoke the next morning, tongue tied and awkward. The spell from the night before had dissipated, like dew burned away by the heat of the rising heat of the sun, and now they felt absurdly shy with one another. Now that "later" had arrived neither man could find the words that needed to be said. By mutual, silent consent they left it aside for the time being, both of them understanding that this was but a temporary reprieve and that soon they would need to address what had transpired the night before. But despite the awkwardness, there was a lingering warmth, a profound intimacy from what they had shared. It buoyed them up, leavened their step, and brought a fierceness to their gaze. It bound them together in a way they hadn't been before and Jack found himself...disquieted by it, unnerved by the intensity of what he was feeling, even though he could not put a name to the emotion as yet. 

Somehow they could never seem to find the right moment. It was almost as if forces were conspiring against them, though in that corner of his own mind where Jack refused to allow lies and half truths he knew it was largely his own fault. He was unsettled by what had happened and every time the memory resurfaced, every time he found himself alone with Daniel, the sensation of unease and disquiet increased. Jack would ruthlessly push the memory away and find excuses not to be alone with Daniel. It was cowardice, he knew, but he reasoned that he shouldn't talk to Daniel until he had he sorted it all out in his own mind and understood what it was he was feeling.

For three days he managed to evade his friend and his own jumbled emotions and then fate tossed yet another curveball his way. A passing airman had found Daniel sprawled on the floor of his office, unconscious. Daniel been taken to the infirmary where a quick once over had revealed a burst appendix. He's been whisked off once again, this time to emergency surgery as Jack and the other members of SG-1 paced the corridor, tense with worry and a fear that grew with each minute that passed. Jack was in a daze. How had this happened? How had Fraiser missed this, especially given the extremely thorough examination she'd given Daniel just days before? He paced the corridor, his hands fisted so tightly his knuckles turned white as the anger and confusion and fear mingled together and swelled beyond reason.

Finally Dr. Warner had emerged from the operating room, weary but satisfied that the surgery had been successful. It had been a close thing, Warner had confirmed. Had he not been on base, had he not been found when he was, had Dr. Warner been unavailable for surgery...the possibilities raced through Jack's mind and another, more horrifying one had surfaced. They had been scheduled to go off world the next day. What if Daniel had collapsed then, at a point where they were hours from the gate and millions of light years from medical assistance? Jack's blood suddenly turned to ice in his veins as the full horror of what could have been washed over him. 

They would have lost Daniel. He'd be dead right now, gone, beyond aid or redemption and the thought was too terrible to contemplate. Jack had walked out, leaving behind a bewildered Sam and Teal'c. He needed to think. He needed to breath. He needed to move. 

He ran.

After a sleepless night spent wrestling with ghosts who refused to grant him respite, Jack had returned to the SGC. Hammond informed him that SG-1 was on stand down while Daniel recuperated from surgery, a much needed and long overdue rest for them all, the general had supplied. Jack had simply nodded his acknowledgement and then had turned on his heel making his way to the infirmary.

There he found Daniel, looking pale and fragile but very much alive and Jack's heart lurched in his chest, relief warring with the bone chilling, gut wrenching fear of nearly losing him forever. Daniel had offered him a watery smile and tried to shift himself upright, the smile transforming into a grimace. They had talked, or at least had tried to, the words and sentiments stilted, the emotions tripping them up, putting new distance between them. 'Too soon,' Jack thought. It was all too fresh, too raw. Once he's had a bit of time to sort through it all, he and Daniel would talk, really talk, just as they'd promised.

But there was no time, and "later" somehow became "never." Jack had been spirited away by a desperate Thor in need of his help. Soon he was joined by Sam and Teal'c as they struggled to battle the nasty techno bugs, keep Earth safe and stay alive against all odds. And they'd succeeded. Thor's ship was destroyed taking with it the techno bugs and the Alpha gate and they were now stranded millions of light years from home. But they were alive and suddenly Jack found himself with the one thing he hadn't had before: time. Nine days worth of time during which he had nothing to do but think as he lay wide awake, gazing up at an alien starscape, reflecting on Daniel's brush with death and his own as well. 

And during those nine days he came to a conclusion: what had passed between he and Daniel was wrong. Completely and utterly wrong in every conceivable way. Jack had been right at the time. It was a madness, a fit of temporary insanity brought on by loneliness and grief and a desperate need to give and receive comfort, but nothing more. There was nothing between he and Daniel, nothing beyond the simple bonds of friendship and camaraderie, like those that existed between he and Teal'c. 

But more than that, Jack wasn't gay. He was straight, dammit, always had been and--this one alcohol induced aberration aside--always would be. Daniel might be gay or bi, or whatever in the hell they called it these days, but he wasn't. He liked women, was attracted to women, women like Carter: smart and beautiful, soft and yielding to the touch. Not men, not Daniel. Daniel had been...confused. That's all. He been confused and distraught over losing Nick once more and had turned to Jack for comfort. It was the kind of things friends did for one another. But there was nothing more. No. Never had been and never would be. Daniel would come to understand in time. He was a smart guy. He'd get over it. He'd forget all about little indiscretion, put a lid on his crush or whatever in the hell he thought he might be feeling for Jack and they'd...move on. Get back to normal once more.

Jack had found his resolve tested the moment he stepped foot back on the ramp of the SGC. It had all been so clear in the moments before he's walked through the gate, his decision made, but now, now he felt uncertainty creeping in. Daniel was standing there waiting for him--for them--to return. He was pale and gaunt and the dark smudges beneath his eyes spoke of his own spate of sleepless nights, but his smile was radiant and his relief was so palpable Jack could feel it wind its way around him like a warm blanket. His first impulse was to race down the ramp and grab the younger man in a fierce embrace, but he squashed the impulse immediately, holding firm to his resolve to maintain his distance. He flicked a glance in Daniel's direction and then turned away to speak to the general. From the corner of his eye he saw Daniel's expression falter, saw the confusion in his eyes, the slight frown creasing his forehead. Jack felt a keen ache at the sight of it but he steeled himself against it and continued to address the general. 'It's all for the best, Danny,' he reassured himself.

He had hoped that Daniel would take the hint, let them do this the easy way, but of course that was impossible. This was Daniel they were talking about, after all. 'Complicated' was his middle name. It wasn't Daniel's fault, of course, at least not completely. When Jack had returned he'd kept his distance, remained cool and aloof. He wanted to let Daniel down as gently as possible and keep from giving him any false hopes. Problem was, you could never predict which way Daniel would go. At times he could be so in tune, so sensitive to every intonation, gesture and nuance that Jack would have sworn the guy was telepathic if not downright prescient. He would seem to understand exactly what Jack wanted to say without him having to utter a single word. But at other times he could be as dense as mud and it took all of Jack's strength not to break down and start drawing stick figure diagrams in the dirt for the suddenly and inexplicably ignorant linguist. 

And of course this was one of the occasions when Daniel decided to be obtuse. He was bewildered by Jack's seemingly sudden change of heart, he couldn't seem to fathom that things had changed between them and that Jack didn't want anything more than his friendship, despite all the evidence that Jack had laid out before him. Daniel would just stare at him with the hurt in his eyes and the pain of it ripped through Jack, rending him, flaying him open. So he hardened his heart, building up walls, thick and impenetrable, like the ones he'd built after Charlie died. Still it wasn't enough. Daniel refused to give up, to give in. He kept reaching out to Jack, and Jack came to realize that it wasn't enough to keep Daniel at bay; he needed to push him away and keep him away for both their sakes.

It hurt, it hurt like hell, but Jack firmly believed it was the best course of action. Where once there were warm, bantering jibes, there was now derision, and remarks as cold and cutting as a surgeon's scalpel. But still it wasn't enough. Jack scorned Daniel publicly, told him to shut up in front of strangers in the desperate hope that humiliation would work where repudiation had not. And still it wasn't enough. They would fight and squabble and tussle like pit bulls but Daniel wouldn't walk away. Jack would feel Daniel's eyes upon him watching, always watching. 

Jack finally came to understand that Daniel was still in love with him, or at least thought that he was in love with him. It wasn't that, of course. Not love. Daniel was lonely, he'd needed someone and Jack had been there. It was a schoolboy crush, nothing more and nothing could ever come of it because Jack wasn't interested in Daniel, wasn't interested in men at all. Jack O'Neill was a dyed in the wool, card-carrying heterosexual. How could Daniel even think Jack would switch hit when there was a woman as beautiful and desirable as Carter right under his nose. 

And suddenly Jack began to think long and hard about his 2IC. Jack wasn't blind; he'd always recognized that Sam Carter was an extraordinary woman; brilliant, clever, gorgeous and damned resourceful. A hell of woman by anyone's standards. And Jack found himself giving Carter a second look and then a third. He smiled at her and she smiled back and there was...sparkage. Not towering inferno, flames of passion type sparkage but a kind of warm, flirty feeling when they looked at one another and engaged in a bit of lighthearted banter. He liked Carter, liked her a lot and he could see the feeling was mutual. This was normal, he thought. They might be two officers in the USAF but they were also a man and a woman. It was only natural that they might feel an attraction. This was good. This felt safe.

And in the end, all of Jack's efforts had finally paid off. Daniel no longer reached out to Jack. He no longer watched him, his eyes full of hurt and recrimination. He no longer harbored any foolish romantic delusions regarding Jack O'Neill. It was over at last; the madness had abated and Jack could move on and so could Daniel. But in the final tally Jack realized that the price of this freedom was nothing less than Daniel's friendship. And it was only after it was broken, irretrievably, irreparably broken, that Jack understood that was the one thing he could not bear to live without. //

 

Jack shifted in his seat, the cushions suddenly as uncomfortable as his own line of thought. They couldn't go on like this, he thought. He couldn't stand the distance anymore and the estrangement was hurting them and the rest of the team in the bargain. He had to find a way to make this right somehow and begin to rebuild his shattered friendship with Daniel.

When Hammond had dropped the bombshell about the meetings at the Pentagon, Jack had cringed inside at the thought of spending three days in close proximity to Daniel. In the past eight months they hadn't spent three hours together, let alone three days, if they weren't off planet and on a mission. 

Jack found himself reflecting on Hammond and his motivations on sending the two of them together on this little non-pleasure jaunt to DC. Yes, it could have been exactly as the General had described it, a round of meetings that were vitally important to the future of the SGC and that required the presence of the best and the brightest--or at least most senior members--of Hammond's command to be successful. But he wouldn't have put it past the old man to try and acquire two targets with a single payload. Hammond wasn't dumb; he had to have noticed the tension on the team, or more specifically between Daniel and himself. He and Daniel studiously avoided one another on base and on the few occasions when necessity forced them together, like mission briefings and debriefings, their interaction was kept to a bare minimum. No banter, no good-natured ribbing about hockey or rocks or the most recent episode of the Simpsons; no chuckling or rolling of eyes. 

And then, of course, there were all of Daniel's 'temporary reassignments' to other teams. Ostensibly they had been necessitated by the shortage of archeologists/anthropologists/linguists with field training and clearance to go through the gate. However, they had also conveniently served as a kind of release valve to keep the tension between Daniel and himself from boiling over and causing irreparable damage.

'No,' he thought to himself. 'Hammond knows, he's always known. This little outing is his way of giving us time to try to work things out on planet and off base.' It was a good strategy, actually. Maybe a change of scenery and some enforced quality time was what they needed to get back on track. Not for the first time, Jack admired Hammond's thoroughly devious nature. 'Well, there's a reason the man has those stars on his shoulder boards,' Jack observed silently, 'and its not for his skill at barbeque.'

Jack leaned back in his seat once more, taking the final swig of his Scotch. For the first time in months the possibility of a reconciliation with Daniel seemed a real and tangible thing rather than a foolish, desperate wish. Jack closed his eyes and offered up a quick prayer to whatever god watched over aging Air Force colonels and forlorn archeologists and hoped that it wasn't too late to make things right between them once again.

Chapter Two

Major Paul Davis, the Pentagon liaison to Stargate Command, walked into the Arrivals' lounge at National Airport, glancing at the bank of screens denoting the arrival of incoming flights. He frowned. Flight number 872 from Denver to Washington was delayed. He walked over to the counter to ask one of the airline representatives about it. She smiled brightly and informed him that there was the storm front moving in from the Rockies that was forcing some planes to shift their flight pattern, but she assured him that the Denver flight would only be about forty minutes late. He smiled his thanks and moved over to one of the tall windows overlooking the tarmac, his body unconsciously adopting the position of parade ground rest that had been drilled into him by years in the service.

He was here at National for a very specific purpose: to greet Colonel O'Neill and Dr. Jackson and to give them a final briefing regarding the meetings that would be taking place at the Pentagon over the course of the next three days. As he stood watching the planes rising and descending in a strangely beautiful dance of mechanical flight, Paul allowed himself the luxury of memory, letting his mind drift and wander back in time

There were days and events would always stand out in his memory. Some of them were filled with pride, like the day his high school track team won the regionals or the day he graduated from The Air Force Academy with honors. Some of them were poignant and bittersweet like the day they buried his friend Ted Richards, just three days after his eighteenth birthday, a tragic victim of a drunk driver, or the day his mother told him she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Some days were meaningful in very private ways, like that day when he was seven years old and his father took him to see an air show at Langley, or the day he lost his virginity under the bleachers with Cindy Mortenson. All of them contributed in some unique way to making him who he was today, in forming his heart and mind and outlook on life.

But then there were the days that would change his life forever in ways that he had never imagined possible even a day before. Chief among them was the day he first laid eyes on the Stargate and his world expanded to accommodate an entire galaxy. But that day was momentous for another reason: it was also the day that he first met Dr. Daniel Jackson...

// He had been stationed at the Pentagon for a little over two years. A third generation Air Force officer, he had risen through the ranks quickly due to family connections (which he himself had never called upon) a sharp, flexible mind, and a skill for diplomacy. Unlike so many of his classmates at the Academy, he hadn't dreamed of a career on the front lines. Paul had no illusions about his abilities; he knew he wasn't cut out for the field, that wasn't where his real strengths lay. He did, however, have a genuine knack for politics, a shrewd understanding of people and policies that had proven to be an invaluable asset in the hallowed halls of the Pentagon. It was those skills that had led him to be assigned as an attach to the offices of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and eventually to his current assignment as the primary liaison between the Pentagon and Stargate Command.

He remembered the day he was summoned into the office of Colonel Avery, a member of General Ryan's staff. The colonel's assistant had ushered him into the room with an exceptional solemnity and Paul knew then that something momentous was about to occur. He wasn't disappointed. Colonel Avery had offered him a thick binder marked 'classified,' and had then proceeded to introduce an appropriately awed young officer into the most amazing-and most carefully guarded-secret in the country, if not the world: the Stargate. He had recognized immediately the singular honor that he was being accorded. Not only the knowledge of this extraordinary program but the opportunity to liaise with them to play a role in its continued existence was truly a once in a lifetime opportunity, and he had leapt at it with complete enthusiasm.

For the next several weeks he pored over mission reports, briefing notes, personnel lists, budgetary requests, anything and everything associated with the day to day workings of the Stargate Program. Within these documents, he found the old adage was true: sometimes truth _was_ stranger than fiction. Within the confines of the SGC, a seeming handful of men and women were leading an existence that was truly larger than life. He read tales of triumph and tragedy, of heroic sacrifice and grievous loss. Some of the reports had heartened him like the account of the creation of a vaccine that had overcome the Touched virus that had plagued the people of the Land of the Light for generations; others had saddened him deeply like the loss of SG-7 and the entire population of P8X-987 to a deadly plague unleashed by the ruthless Nirrti. He learned of encounters with other races: the gentle and peace loving Nox, the haughty Tollans, the benevolent Asgard, and of course, the cruel and arrogant Goa'uld, the enemy and bane of humankind.

But always there at the center of it all was SG-1, the flagship team of Stargate Command. It was evident right from the start that they were a unique and extraordinary group of people: a twice retired, former Special Ops Air Force colonel; a theoretical astrophysicist, former military brat and Air Force captain; a civilian archeologist cum anthropologist cum linguist; and an alien warrior turncoat with a larval Goa'uld incubating in his gut. He couldn't have found a more disparate group of people if he'd tried, but their amazing track record was proof enough that they had meshed as a team. He had read their reports with all the rapt fascination of a child, awed at the hurdles that they had overcome. Skin-of-their-teeth victories, miraculous resurrections, the repulsion of a full fledged attack against the planet Earth, it seemed like something right out of one of those old Flash Gordon serials, but for SG-1 it was just another day at the office.

It was clear General Hammond, the facility's commander, had a special fondness for them, and Paul could certainly understand why. They were a pretty amazing bunch. But of all of them it was Dr. Daniel Jackson who intrigued him the most. An intellectual maverick who had bucked the established system of academia and had been ostracized for daring to voice unpopular and seemingly heretical theories. Paul suspected that in years to come, when the Stargate Program was no longer classified, Dr. Jackson would be heralded as a kind of latter day Galileo, persecuted and cast out for speaking the truth. These unpopular theories had led to his rather spectacular fall from grace; grants rescinded, job offers retracted. Homeless, friendless, aimless, until Catherine Langford had recruited him and offered him the chance to prove his theories right. 

And he had been right. Within two weeks Dr. Jackson had unlocked the riddle of the Stargate, a mystery the best minds in the military had been unable to decipher after two years of intensive study. Yet here he was, scholar, heretic and genius, who in the space of days had found the answer with nothing more than his quicksilver mind and an uncanny intuitive sense. As a rule Paul didn't consider himself someone who was easily impressed, but Jackson had indeed impressed him and he'd never even met the man.

That was to change just a little after three months following his appointment to the role of official Pentagon liaison to the SGC. It was after the near cataclysmic disaster spawned by a newly formed black hole on P3W-451 that had not only killed Major Henry Boyd and the rest of the newly formed SG-10 but had almost destroyed Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado and potentially the entire planet. Not exactly the most auspicious circumstances under which to meet the men and women with whom you will be liaising, but it did provide a rare opportunity to see these people at work. They had shown, once again, the incredible tenacity and the very unique abilities that had allowed them to prevail in the past. General Hammond's loyalty to his people, his rock solid belief that they could and would resolve the situation, Captain Carter's brilliant and rather unconventional-and ultimately successful-solution to the problem, Colonel O'Neill's exemplary courage under fire and his decision to undertake action which would in all probability take his life whether it worked or not. The gambit had succeeded, and against all odds, Colonel O'Neill had survived the blast, though Colonel Cromwell had not. It was another loss, another death in the name of galactic exploration, but in light of the other possible outcomes, it was one he could accept.

When General Hammond returned to Cheyenne Mountain, Paul had accompanied him. Though he had only been assigned to the SGC three months prior and had never stepped foot in the complex, obscurely he felt his place was there. When it was all over and the dust has settled along the floor of the Gateroom, Paul was there to help with the cleanup and observe the men and women of the SGC as they worked with fierce determination to restore normalcy to this most abnormal of places.

They had been walking along the halls of the SGC, making their way back to the Embarkation room and discussing the necessary preparations for the creation of a replacement iris when suddenly they crossed paths with a figure approaching the T-junction.

"Dr. Jackson!" Hammond called.

At the pronouncement of that familiar name, Paul looked over and was rewarded with his first sight of the elusive Dr. Daniel Jackson. His first thought was that the image formed in his mind from the various reports and personnel files didn't correspond with the man standing before him. He'd known Dr. Jackson was young, that he'd been something of a boy genius and the darling of the archeological community before his fall from grace. He knew his age-32-and his appearance from the information in his file, but his first impression was that Dr. Jackson was very, very young, an impression that was reinforced by the longish hair and ill fitting fatigues that gave his the appearance of a boy dressing up in his older brother's clothes. 

His second impression was of a very keen mind. Despite being startled by the general's sudden summons, Dr, Jackson was already studying him, gauging and assessing. Paul could practically see the gears turning and the synapses firing within those vivid blue eyes. That he had expected; Dr. Jackson's psych profile confirmed a very shrewd mind and all additional evidence had proven that he was every bit as brilliant as he was reputed to be. Still, Paul was a bit disconcerted to find himself the object of the young doctor's intense gaze. It was unnerving indeed and he made a mental note to himself to never earn this man's ire. 

The third impression, and the one that he would never share, was that Dr. Daniel Jackson was an exceptionally handsome man in addition to being young and brilliant. It made for an enticing package, but it also raised the stakes and at this point in his career, Paul wasn't sure he was willing to take the risk. At least, not yet.

"Dr. Jackson," General Hammond interjected, capturing the young doctor's attention once more, "I'd like you meet Major Paul Davis. He's recently been named as the official liaison between the SGC and the Joint Chiefs of Staff at the Pentagon."

Paul was surprised to see Dr. Jackson's lips thin slightly and his eyes become guarded at Hammond's announcement. By all accounts Dr. Jackson was generally open and garrulous by nature. This sudden wariness seemed out of character until Paul remembered that Dr. Jackson had had some less than pleasant encounters with other members of the military outside the SGC, most specifically personnel from Area 51. He would have to clear up that misconception as soon as possible. 

"Major Davis, this is..." Hammond began.

Paul put on his warmest smile and extended his hand to the hesitant young man. "No need for an introduction, general." Daniel had taken his hand and Paul shook it with enthusiasm. "It's a great pleasure to finally meet you Dr. Jackson. I'm very impressed by the work you've done on behalf of the SGC.

"Thank you," Daniel responded, his tone carefully neutral.

"I was especially interested in your ideas regarding the information your team discovered on P3X-972, Heliopolis, I believe you called it. And your supposition that it was a meeting place between four alien races was a provocative one. And," he said, his smile becoming wider, "one that was apparently correct given the information that Colonel O'Neill provided from his encounter with the Asgard following your visit to P3R-272. It's a shame that Heliopolis no longer exists. It would have been a subject of invaluable study."

Jackson's expression had changed from one of wariness to mild disbelief. Paul resisted the urge to laugh out loud, fearing the young man might misconstrue such a response. "I may be military, but I do understand that the...'meaning of life stuff' is every bit as important, if not more so, than any military advances we might gain because of the Stargate. And I'm not alone in that sentiment, Dr. Jackson."

By now, Jackson's expression had thawed completely and he was smiling himself, a rather shy, winsome smile that was thoroughly engaging, and if he were to be completely frank, utterly devastating. "It's...good to hear that."

"It's true, I assure you, Actually, I would very much like the opportunity to talk with you a bit about your work before I leave. I'm hoping to use this visit to get a sense of how the SGC works. You can only learn so much from reports and briefing notes," he explained.

"Oh! Yes, I'd be happy to meet with you. Oh...um..." 

Paul couldn't help but notice the way the man stuttered when flustered. This enthusiastic Dr. Jackson was so different from the closed off, apprehensive man of just moments before. The transformation was startling. 

"...I was just on my way to the infirmary to see how Jack, I, uh, mean Colonel O'Neill was doing." Jackson explained.

"Well perhaps we could accompany you." He turned towards Hammond. "General?" he inquired.

Hammond smiled, his expression so paternal Paul almost expected the general to reach out and pat Dr. Jackson on the head. Clearly Dr. Jackson was well liked within the facility. "That's an excellent idea. Shall we?"

Dr. Jackson smiled at the general before turning back along the path he was traveling when they first met. It wouldn't be until years later that the full weight and meaning of that impression was finally driven home.

They talked casually on the brief trip to the infirmary. Dr. Jackson explained that he had been off world with SG-7 surveying the remains of a Goa'uld temple. Unfortunately, when the wormhole generated by the Stargate locked in on the black hole forming near P3W-451, it became impossible for any other off world activation to take place. SG-7, along with SG-4 which was also on an away mission, found themselves stranded millions of light years from home, with no way to even get word to or from Earth. For five days they had tried to reach Earth without success, until they finally connected.

"That must have been nerve wracking," Paul put to the other man.

Jackson shrugged. "Well, it wasn't exactly fun, but we hadn't exhausted all of our options. Once we confirmed that our DHD was functioning by dialing another address, we knew the problem was on Earth. Not much we could do on our end. If push came to shove, we could have gated to P3X-797 until we could finally make contact."

Paul wracked his brains trying to remember which planet carried that designation. He drew a blank. "P3X-797?" 

"The Land of the Light," Jackson provided as the left the elevator and turned the corner.

"Ah. Forgot that one," he explained with a wry smile.

Jackson smiled back. "That's quite alright. It's hard to keep track of them all even when you've actually traveled there yourself. Names would much easier to remember than computer generated binary codes." As he said this last, Jackson flicked a sideways glance and a sly smile at Hammond who simply snorted softly in response. Obviously this was a long standing, but amiable quarrel and this casual exchange told Paul more than words could about the tenor of the relationship between Hammond and the people under his command. It was a good sign, a very good sign indeed.

Two more turns along the corridors of the SGC brought the three men to the entrance of the infirmary. This area of the facility was considerably quieter than the other areas they had passed. At present, only a handful of beds were occupied by personnel sporting relatively minor, non-threatening injuries. Dr. Jackson moved unerringly to a bed at the far side of the room and Paul and the general followed.

Even without Dr. Jackson's lead, Paul would have been able to identify Colonel O'Neill without hesitation. O'Neill had something of a reputation for being cantankerous and contrary and he was living down to the reputation in spades. At present, he was arguing volubly with Dr. Fraiser, the CMO of the SGC.

"Aw, c'mon Doc, I feel fine. There's no reason for me to be stuck in here."

To her credit, Dr. Fraiser didn't back down from the force that was a crotchety Colonel O'Neill. She held her ground, responding in a cool, professional manner. "Colonel O'Neill, you are exhausted and dehydrated and are suffering the after effects of a very serious concussion. You will be staying here until I clear you to leave. Now, you can rest and recuperate under your own power, or under sedation. Your choice."

O'Neill scowled at the petite doctor, but wisely held his tongue. Dr. Fraiser moved away from the colonel's bed, nodding her head at the three men who were approaching.

Dr. Jackson was chuckling. "Well Jack, I see you're being your usual genial self. Haven't you learned yet it's not wise to argue with the lady with the needles?"

O'Neill brightened immediately at the sound of his voice. "Hey Danny boy!" he greeted the younger man. "Nah, she loves me. Its all a clever ploy to keep me nearby."

Jackson snorted. "That concussion must be worse than we thought. I think it's making you delusional."

Now it was O'Neill's turn to snort in response. "Well, that's nice. Mocking the aged and the infirm."

"Always glad to be of service."

Paul watched this exchange with wry amusement. Obviously these two men were close. They bantered so freely, each giving the other back as good as they got. The teasing immediately came to a halt when Hammond spoke up.

"Colonel O'Neill, its good to see you awake and alert enough to be terrorizing the medical staff."

"Well just doing my part to liven up the place." O'Neill rejoined cheekily.

Hammond smiled indulgently at his 2IC. "Colonel, I'd like to introduce you to Major Paul Davis. He's serving as the official liaison between the SGC and the Joint Chiefs of Staff at the Pentagon."

"Major," O'Neill said, nodding slightly as he spoke. His tone was bland but his eyes were sharp. A soldier to the core, O'Neill's first response was to assess any new threat to ascertain whether it was friendly or hostile. His expression clearly stated that he was withholding judgment. For now. 

Paul saluted the superior officer before once again donning his warmest smile. "Colonel O'Neill, it's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I've heard a great deal about you."

"Well, ya know, you've gotta be careful who you listen to," O'Neill remarked, his voice adopting a lazy, arrogant drawl.

"I can assure you sir, I've heard nothing but good things."

"Well, see, there ya go." His smile was cocky, but there was just a tiny edge of something slightly dangerous, a warning left unspoken, but present, nonetheless. Message received and understood, sir. Colonel John "Jack" O'Neill was not a man to be underestimated or taken lightly. Ever.

Paul wasn't offended, well not too much. He'd met men like O'Neill before; field officers who had little tolerance for officers like himself, "pencil-pushers" and "desk jockeys." They were men of action, sharp, decisive men who hated politics on principle. What O'Neill failed to realize was that they were not necessarily at cross-purposes here. They could be allies rather than antagonists if O'Neill was willing to meet him halfway.

Hammond was frowning slightly, obviously not approving of his 2IC's rather flippant remarks, but amazingly it was Dr. Jackson who brought him to heel.

"You're just pulling out all the charm today, aren't you Jack?" the younger man observed with the mildest of censure.

Interesting. O'Neill looked almost sheepish at the reproach. Almost. Still it was more of a capitulation than either Hammond or Fraiser had been able to obtain from the irreverent colonel. And suddenly Paul was reassessing the relationship between the two men. He flickered a covert glance at each of them in turn. Friends? Yes. Close friends? Indisputably. More than friends? He watched them as they interacted, observing the gestures, the tone of their voice, the light, fleeting touch of Jackson's hand on O'Neill's arm. He felt suddenly, inexplicably excluded, though there was absolutely nothing improper or untoward about their actions or speech. And then he felt a twinge of something else, something he could only identify as jealousy. 'Well, it looks like I'm not the only one to fall under the spell of Dr. Jackson.' And as he watched the two men smiling and joking, for one brief moment Paul Davis would have given anything to be Jack O'Neill.//

Paul glanced at his watch and then at the screens displaying information regarding arrivals. Still no Flight 872. He sighed before shifting his gaze back to the window, his mind drifting once more into reminiscence.

// Months went by before Paul had the opportunity to return to Cheyenne Mountain. Unfortunately, when he was summoned back to the SGC, it was under dire circumstances. Three quarters of SG-1 was MIA and presumed dead, while the fourth surviving member lay in the infirmary in a coma. There was no sign of the missing team members, and all indications pointed to the Goa'uld as being responsible for their disappearance. 

The loss of SG-1 was a terrible blow to the SGC, not only because of the security breach it presented but also the devastating effects on morale. SG-1 was seemingly indestructible, their unofficial motto "No permanent deaths." Paul understood how grievous this loss was, but it was his responsibility to help the SGC remain strong in the face of this crisis.

When Colonel Makepeace returned to Earth with news of the team's capture and imprisonment by Hathor, Paul found himself torn between relief and caution. While he personally applauded Hammond's dedication to his people, he knew the general was taking a horrible risk by committing the resources of his entire command to the rescue of three of his people. He had no choice but to voice that assessment which the general promptly ignored. 'Major, you've got a lot to learn about how we do things around here.' No, Paul understood perfectly. He wanted SG-1 back every bit as much as Hammond did, albeit for somewhat different reasons, but his first duty was to his superiors at the Pentagon. As much as he hated doing it, he would do his duty, regardless of the personal cost. He just hoped the reckless gambit succeeded.

Hammond's strategy did pay off. SG-1 was back home, safe, more or less in one piece and with one hell of a story to tell. Davis was in the control room when the Stargate had burst to life and the IDC confirmed the return of the flagship team. A dozen figures had straggled through the wormhole, dusty, battered, exhausted, but wonderfully, amazingly alive, though he couldn't help but notice they had returned two men short. He had sighed, knowing that those were the risks in any R & R mission, but still the loss would be mourned. He watched as a few handshakes and backslaps were exchanged before Dr. Fraiser directed them all to the infirmary with her usual mixture of exasperation, professional decisiveness and genuine concern. He'd left them alone, knowing they needed some time to get settled in, checked out and generally re-acclimated after their absence from the SGC.

Finally he made his way to the infirmary to welcome back the wayward team. As he stepped in the door, he experienced a flash of dj-vu. It was his first visit all over again. Once again, Colonel O'Neill was bickering with Dr. Fraiser while Dr. Jackson gently chided him for his rude behavior. He remained standing on the far side of the room, studying them as unobtrusively as possible. They fell easily into their established roles of cantankerous colonel and demure archeologist, playing to their audience with practiced ease. Their banter flowed effortlessly, bespeaking long experience and a world of affection. 

There were some differences from the last time he had witnessed such a tableau. This time Dr. Jackson was a patient rather than a visitor; Paul could see a heavy white bandage wrapped around his right thigh peeking out from beneath his hospital gown as he dangled his legs over the side of his bed. His hair was shorter than before, the cut almost military in nature, and his glasses were missing, though he suspected they had gone AWOL rather than having become obsolete. For his part, the colonel looked remarkably similar, though there was more gray creeping in at his temples and perhaps a few new lines of stress around the eyes and mouth.

But these differences were superficial ones, surface gloss and nothing more. The true change was in the tenor of the exchange itself. There was...more. That was the only word that even came close to explaining it. The gazes were more intense, the smiles a bit more fond, the words a shade more amiable. There was another layer of richness and warmth there, nothing too obvious and he doubted anyone around them who knew them and worked with them on a daily basis could see it. But to him, an outsider, an observer by nature and duty, it was apparent.

Were they lovers, he wondered. Had they crossed that line from friendship to physical intimacy? Impossible to tell given the depth of affection that already existed between them. Paul found the notion to be unsettling. He looked over at Dr. Jackson again, noting the warmth in his eyes as he gazed at O'Neill and felt his stomach clench. Ever since that intense, but all too brief encounter with Jackson months before, Paul had found his thoughts drifting to the brilliant young man more often than strictly proper. He found himself studying SG-1's reports more closely than before, searching out any mention of Dr. Jackson's name. He paid special attention to the quarterly progress reports issued by the departments of archeology, anthropology and linguistics, the departments nominally headed by Jackson. And he did a little digging as well, learning more about Dr. Jackson's early life and career, topics mentioned but hardly exhausted in his personnel file. Paul had shaken his head inwardly. 'You've got it bad, Paul.'

He was fascinated by a man who didn't even know he existed and who apparently was already spoken for.

He sighed. There was nothing to be done, nothing he could do unless the situation changed between Jackson and O'Neill, and somehow he doubted it would. Plastering on his warmest smile, Paul moved forward, walking towards section of the infirmary where the four members of SG-1 resided.

"Welcome back SG-1. It's good to have you home."

His visits fell into a pattern after that. Every few months he came the SGC for a regular meeting or on those thankfully few occasions when a crisis arose that required the involvement of the Pentagon. He always saw Dr. Jackson on those visits, as well as O'Neill. He had quickly noticed that where one was the other was not far behind. They were inseparable, it would appear, and Paul had to steel himself before every visit to Cheyenne Mountain knowing he would once again have to see what he privately coveted but knew he could never have. Dr. Jackson always greeted him courteously, O'Neill somewhat less so, but the disdain the colonel had shown on their first meeting had been replaced with respect, which for a man like O'Neill was a genuine compliment.

The worst part of any visit, of course, was seeing them together. The casual, easy affection that marked their relationship grated to no end, but Paul wrapped himself in an armor of professional decorum, clinging to an unassailable commitment to duty to pull him through. Neither man ever knew, or ever even suspected how he felt, and he was determined to keep it that way.

There were, unfortunately, the occasional hiccups and glitches. His face still went warm with embarrassment when he remembered his behavior on the occasion when the SGC was nearly overtaken by a hostile alien invasion force attempting to gain a foothold on Earth. He and O'Neill had succeeded in freeing themselves from the strange harnesses that held the personnel of the SGC in some kind of coma like stasis. He remembered how the door had opened to reveal Daniel Jackson waving a sidearm with a look of genuine relief on his face. Still a bit disoriented by the effects of whatever the alien contraption had done to him, Paul's guard was down and he found himself smiling openly at the young man while the ever wary O'Neill trained a gun on him. When the young man had reached up and disengaged the device on his chest, revealing Major Carter who had been cloaked in the illusion of Dr. Jackson, Paul's face had fallen, his disappointment a tangible thing. Fortunately, both O'Neill and Carter had been too focused on the problem at hand to even notice, but Paul was humiliated by the memory of his lack of control and swore he would never allow such a slip again.

The first time he saw Dr. Jackson without O'Neill was when the colonel was stranded on Edora. Those three months had had a marked impact upon the entire facility. The mood of the SGC was subdued, as if the colonel was the vital spark that gave it life and sound. Everyone had shown signs of the strain. General Hammond had been grim, a perpetual frown etched in his forehead. Teal'c had been even more somber and closed off than before. Major Carter had been manic, living on adrenalin and desperate hope as she frantically tried to construct a piece of alien inspired technology that might not even work once she managed to build it. 

But most poignant of all was Dr. Jackson. He had carried about him the ineffable air of a grieving widow: forlorn, heartbroken, and yet dignified in the face of an insurmountable loss. Still reeling from the death of his wife only months before, everyone seemed to understand how devastating this additional loss would be to the already emotionally fragile man. Everyone at the SGC from the general down to the lowest airman had been most sympathetic, treating him with all the care and consideration usually accorded to a spouse awaiting news of a loved one MIA. Paul was moved to see how everyone rallied around one of their own, though he doubted Jackson even noticed as he moved through the halls of the SGC in a daze. Jackson's distraction was like a punch to the gut as Paul came to realize that from even millions of light years away, O'Neill's hold on Jackson's affections was absolute. It would take more than physical distance to ever separate the two.

The first time Paul saw a discernible crack in that relationship had come shortly afterwards, following the highly covert sting operation developed by Hammond and O'Neill in order to shut down a ring of technology thieves stationed off world and working under the direction of Colonel Maybourne. The whole incident had been a political nightmare. Fingers had been pointed, heads had rolled. Maybourne had taken the fall, though everyone had known he had been working under orders from higher up. The SGC had succeeded in ending the operation, assuaging the fears and suspicions of their alien allies enough to restore diplomatic relations, but on the home front the situation was still messy.

Paul had been sent to Cheyenne Mountain to consult with General Hammond and offer the congratulations of the Joint Chiefs of Staff on a job well done. But soon after arriving he realized that things weren't exactly normalized at the SGC either.

He'd entered the briefing room, nodding to General Hammond and the four members of SG-1 and immediately sensed a tension so palpable it could be cut with a knife. The five people seated at the table were all stiff and clearly uncomfortable and seemed unable to make eye contact, but as the meeting progressed, it was increasingly apparent that Dr. Jackson and Colonel O'Neill were the epicenter of the tension. He watched them, carefully noting Dr. Jackson's rigid, glacial composure and Colonel O'Neill's barely restrained frustration. Dr. Jackson's speech was precise and eminently professional, but whenever it turned towards O'Neill the tone became chilled and cutting. In contrast, O'Neill seemed discomfited and uncharacteristically silent. He spoke only when spoken to and seemed to be shooting pleading looks towards the archeologist which he very carefully ignored. 

Something had happened, something personal, that had caused a rift between the two men, and whatever it was, it was a doozey. Paul suspected it had to do with the sting operation, some personal fallout that hadn't found its way into the official reports submitted to the Pentagon. Whatever it was, it had all the markings of a major lovers' tiff. And for the first time since meeting Dr. Jackson, hope rose up in his chest.

The next time Paul came to Cheyenne Mountain, it was in response to a crisis. He'd been awakened at 0300 by the ringing of his phone and two hours later he was on a plane winging its way to Colorado. The situation that greeted his arrival was grave indeed. Colonel O'Neill beamed up to the Belisknor, the flagship of Thor, the Supreme Commander of the Asgard fleet; O'Neill's terse report that the ship was overrun with some strange technological creatures, known as Replicators and that the ship was currently on a heading straight for Earth; O'Neill's request for ordnance to try and prevent its arrival; Major Carter and Teal'c beaming up with the weaponry to offer the team leader any and all assistance they could on what was, in all probability, a suicide mission.

Paul had been stunned breathless but he quickly regained control of himself. 'Saving Earth. Just another day at the office for SG-1.'

Except of course, for the one member of SG-1 who remained behind. In Hammond's brief and thoroughly business like report he mentioned that Dr. Jackson had undergone an emergency appendectomy some 36 hours previous, otherwise he surely would have joined his comrades on Thor's ship. Paul refrained from asking 'How is he?' knowing that Dr. Jackson's personal health was a minor concern at the moment, but it didn't stop Paul from worrying.

Paul found out for himself an hour later when Jackson, looking wan and incredibly fragile, entered the command center and took up the post next to his. Seeing the other man's pallor and exhaustion and the slight gauntness of his cheeks, Paul couldn't help but wonder what Dr. Fraiser was thinking, letting him out of the infirmary in his current state. But then, Paul knew. He remembered how Dr. Jackson had looked during the three months O'Neill was stranded on Edora: lost, forlorn and utterly devastated, not simply because of O'Neill's absence but more because there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. The sense of helplessness had been overwhelming. And this time it was even worse because it wasn't just O'Neill who was beyond his reach, it was his entire team. If the worst should happen, if this time SG-1 couldn't scrounge another miracle from their bag of tricks, Jackson would truly be alone. He felt a sudden, sympathetic pang of grief for the man. He understood. Jackson was here because he needed to be here.

And when the Stargate itself suddenly shimmered and vanished, it was inevitably Dr. Jackson who first recognized the import. 'They're going to use it to escape!' Jackson had surmised, his words ringing in the sudden silence of the control room. Jackson's enthusiasm was contagious; Paul could feel a sudden hope flare. It could just work. No, it _would_ work because it had too. 

A few minutes later the ship dropped out of a controlled entry and they received visual confirmation of a fireball over the Pacific that crashed into the ocean some four hundred miles off the coast of California. The control room was quiet, eerily so in the wake of the announcement. Thor's ship had crashed and they had no way of knowing whether SG-1 was alive or dead. The crisis was over; now the waiting would begin.

Paul had turned to his right to offer words of assurance to Dr. Jackson, but the platitudes died unspoken. Jackson looked beyond pale now; his face had taken on a grayish cast and his lips were pressed tightly together in what was surely a grimace of pain.

"Dr. Jackson?" Paul queried softly, his hand reaching out to touch the other man's elbow. He could feel the fine tremors racing through the other man's body. The adrenalin rush that had kept him going, that had helped him focus, had obviously dissipated, leaving the archeologist weak and trembling with exhaustion.

"Would you like to go to the infirmary?" he asked, again keeping his voice soft and reassuring, reminding himself that this man had received something of a shock on top of major surgery less than two days prior. The slight nod he received in response told him all he needed to know about the state the other man was in and Paul suddenly remembered that they had been in the control room for several hours without reprieve. Certainly any pain medication that Dr. Jackson was receiving had worn off by now. He felt a swift, but familiar, flood of admiration for this man who put his own concerns aside for the good of his team. It hardly came as a surprise, but still it was rather humbling to see first hand. 

Paul moved closer and helped the other man to rise, noting his grimace deepen and his eyes close momentarily. He placed an arm around Jackson's waist to steady him and then began to direct his shuffling steps towards the door. General Hammond looked at them concerned, but Paul simply shook his head, receiving a sympathetic nod of understanding in return. Dr. Fraiser would be apprised and awaiting their arrival. No doubt a wheelchair or a gurney would have hastened their progress, but Paul knew instinctively that Jackson would rather be spared the indignity and make his way under his own power. It was a small thing, but it was the least that Paul could do.

Fraiser was waiting for them, fussing and frowning and Dr. Jackson accepted it all without uttering a word. Paul stood in the doorway watching as the archeologist was settled on a bed and a sedative and long overdue pain medication was administered. He remained until Jackson's breathing evened out and he drifted off into slumber. And he remained and watched a few precious moments longer before finally leaving the infirmary to return to duty.

He was sitting at Dr. Jackson's bedside when the other man finally pulled himself out of his exhausted and drug induced sleep. Paul watched as the lashes fluttered and the eyes opened, blinking several times before finally focusing.

"Major Davis?" he croaked, his voice raspy.

"Hello, Dr. Jackson. I was hoping you'd wake up before I had to return to Washington," Paul explained with a gentle smile.

"News?" Jackson's eyes were sliding closed and then fluttering open once again. He wouldn't remain awake for long, Paul realized.

"No, not yet. Naval recovery teams have been sent to deal with any wreckage and we've already sent word to Area 51 to arrange for the Beta gate to uncrated and shipped here ASAP. General Hammond is seeing to it personally.

Jackson smiled at that, his eyes slipping closed, before opening and gazing at him once again. "Thank you."

Paul basked for a moment in the warmth that those simple words of gratitude engendered. He smiled again before continuing, "I have to return to the Pentagon and give the Joint Chiefs a full report of what is going on. General Hammond has promised to let me know as soon as we receive word. I just wanted to make sure you were alright before I left."

Jackson nodded. On impulse, Paul reached out and placed his hand on top of the other man's and gave it a gentle squeeze. "They're alright," he reassured, "they're alright and they'll be coming home soon."

Jackson nodded once again. "Thank you," he repeated as his eyes closed once more and he succumbed to the sedative's effects.

"They'll be alright," Paul whispered fiercely, "and so will you."

With that, he extricated his hand, rose up from his chair and left the infirmary.

Nine days later found Paul once more ensconced in the depths of Cheyenne Mountain as they found themselves confronted with the aftermath of the destruction of the Belisknor. The situation was already bad, and it looked like it was about to get worse. Not only did they have to cope with the global ramifications of a UFO exploding and then crashing in Earth's atmosphere and the dicey political consequences as the Russians hurled accusations of US involvement in the loss of one of their submarines, but worse, far worse, they were facing the very real possibility that one or more of the Replicators had survived the crash and were attempting to gain a foothold on Earth. 

Going toe to toe with an irate O'Neill was not among Paul's more enjoyable responsibilities. While he agreed completely with the colonel's argument that the Replicators posed a grave threat to Earth and needed to be dealt with extreme prejudice, he was keenly aware of the rather volatile situation confronting the Pentagon. The Russians were already suspicious of their cover story of a dangerous chemical spill and nuking the sub in international waters would have severe political repercussions. A no-win situation either way. It was days like this that made Paul yearn for a quiet assignment, maybe a listening post in Antarctica. But he was here and he was needed and he would do whatever was necessary to salvage this dangerous situation.

And so it was that Paul found himself on his second flight of the day, this time winging to San Diego along with a cadre of SGC personnel. He glanced at the faces around him: somber, focused, determined. The people of the SGC were the crme de la crme of the armed forces, selected for their unique skills, their resilience and their competence, and in a situation such as this one it showed. Their professionalism was like a balm to his soul, buoying him up in the face of truly dire events. 

As he sat hunched over on a bench of the USAF carrier, Paul's eyes unconsciously sought out another figure: Dr. Jackson. Jackson was seated between the petite figure of Dr. Fraiser and Sgt. Siler. Paul was mildly surprised that he wasn't seated anywhere near Colonel O'Neill who was further down the bench huddled between Teal'c and a younger airman Paul didn't recognize. Paul frowned at that arrangement, so inconsistent with their typical behavior. Even more disconcerting was the way Jackson seemed to be watching O'Neill. There was an intensity in that gaze but also something raw and a little bit sad. O'Neill for his part did not look in Jackson's direction at all, preferring to engage in conversation with Teal'c instead. Had something happened between them? When he'd last been at the SGC Jackson had been almost desperate with worry for his comrades but now O'Neill seemed strangely oblivious to the younger man's concern.

In retrospect Paul would come to understand that this was where it all began to fall apart between the two men. It wasn't until later that he would find out precisely what had gone wrong, but even at this point Paul could see the sudden, gaping distance that had sprung up between the two men as Jackson watched O'Neill with wistful eyes and O'Neill ignored and rebuffed him in return. It was painful to watch, but Paul also recognized that perhaps his opportunity had finally come.

Once they arrived, the entire operation proved to be more complicated and more dangerous than initially imagined. O'Neill, Teal'c and two other airmen entered the sub, only to discover it had been overrun with Replicators which retaliated violently to the incursion of the SGC teams, leaving both Stephens and Baker dead. The one bright spot was the intelligence gained from their foray: the new 'techno bugs' were vulnerable. A second controlled excursion, focused on the original surviving Replicator, should be successful, or so they hoped.

So O'Neill and Teal'c went once more into the breach. The plan seemed to be going off smoothly, that is until all hell broke loose. The two men were trapped and the sub was trying to break free of its anchor line and make a run for open waters. In a matter of minutes a previously contained situation had spiraled out of control.

At the command center they sat in stunned silence, watching as O'Neill and Teal'c desperately tried to escape and found every avenue of egress cut off and the Replicators began to move and swarm over the two men with relentless determination. Paul felt his gut clench at the sight, struggling for control as waves of horror and helplessness crashed over him.

And then O'Neill gave the order to blow the sub. It was the right decision, the logical decision, the tactically sound decision. And yet Paul found himself hesitating. He flicked a glance at the man seated next to him. Jackson was desolate, his face like a war zone. Paul felt his insides twist even further at the sight of the archeologist's obvious grief as he listened to Jackson and O'Neill exchange what could be their final words. O'Neill was begging Jackson to blow the sub, to deliver the coup-de-grace and spare him the terrible fate of being torn apart by a swarm of Replicators, even as the distraught Jackson fought to delay the inevitable. It was terrible, it was horrible. It was the most moving thing Paul had ever witnessed.

When O'Neill gave him the order to blow the sub, still Paul had hesitated. It was a direct order from a superior officer; more than that, it was the right thing to do. But Paul found his eyes searching out Jackson's face one more time. Jackson's heart was breaking, it was there in his eyes for all to see. This could very well destroy him and Paul ached for the other man's impending loss, even as some small and petty part of him recognized that O'Neill's death might provide him the chance to claim what he had so long coveted.

Before Paul could say the words, Jackson acquiesced and gave the approval himself. The order was given and the torpedoes were launched. A hush came over the command center, broken only by Siler's voice as he tracked the progress of the torpedoes. Paul looked once more at Jackson and promised himself he would be there for him, that he would give the archeologist all the support he needed to get through this terrible loss. Paul flatly refused to consider his own motivations or his own feelings on the matter. That was for later.

And then suddenly Daniel's expression changed. He smiled, his face radiant like the sun breaking through a bank of storm clouds. "They're OK," he stuttered. "They'rrrr...They'rrr...Ther...they're OK!" he finally stammered out, pointing upwards, as Paul was treated to the sight of a linguist completely robbed of speech by uncontainable joy. 

 

Paul clapped him gently on the shoulder, relieved for the sake of the other man, even as a tiny bit of his heart silently grieved for his own lost opportunity. //

Paul was shaken from his reverie by the slightly tinny sound of a female voice announcing the arrival of Flight 872 at Gate 17. Leaving behind his own indulgent thoughts, Paul walked purposefully towards the designated gate.

By the time he arrived, the first passengers were filing out the exit doors and Paul soon spotted two familiar figures in the flow of bodies. He moved forward to catch the attention of the two men who immediately shifted direction towards him. He snapped a quick salute.

"Colonel O'Neill, Dr. Jackson. Welcome to Washington, sirs." 

O'Neill, in typical fashion offered a picture perfect salute in return, the effect of which was somewhat dampened by the slight scowl he was wearing. 'Ah, so not a good flight,' Paul thought. In contrast, Dr. Jackson gave him a warm smile and a warmer handshake, as he murmured his own words of greeting.

O'Neill's scowl deepened.

'Oh, yes, this is going to be fun,' Paul mused. Putting on his brightest smile, he gestured to the two men. "If you'll follow me, sirs, there is a staff car waiting to take you to the hotel."

If he'd had any doubts as to the current status of the relationship between the two men, they'd been quickly laid to rest. Dr. Jackson was pleasant as always, engaging him in conversation as they walked towards the parking lot, while treating O'Neill with a cool and perfunctory manner that might appear to an outsider as professionalism but which Paul understood was much closer to disdain. O'Neill simply trailed behind them, glowering like a thundercloud. And Paul knew that finally, after two long years of waiting, his chance had finally come.

 

Chapter Three

Daniel leaned back against the leather upholstery of the staff car the Pentagon had provided, feeling the faint vibrations as the vehicle sped along asphalt covered roadways, as Major Davis gave them a last minute briefing regarding the imminent meetings. Daniel listened with only half an ear; there were no noticeable divergences from the itinerary General Hammond had given them the day before, not that he'd expected any. The meetings had been planned down to the utmost minutiae, and just as obviously, they had been arranged well in advance, confirming Daniel's private suspicion that Hammond had set them up. He let the calming tones of Major Davis' voice wash over him as he tried to find the balance he would need to get through the next three days with Jack.

Daniel had spent the entire flight from Denver to Washington mulling over the current predicament, his book on gender roles in Coptic society left open but ignored. The situation with Jack was untenable. They'd been studiously ignoring one another for months now and it only served to push them further apart. Worse than that, it was hurting the team. Regardless of what had happened between Jack and himself, it was unfair for them to let it affect Sam and Teal'c. They were his friends, his family. Unfortunately, they were also innocent bystanders caught up in the fallout of his and Jack's little romantic melodrama and he owed it to them to resolve the situation once and for all.

It was, Daniel realized, all his fault. Unintentionally and unexpectedly, he had set in motion the chain of events that brought them to this point. It was, after all, his need that impelled Jack to act in the first place. Jack would never have taken that step, would never have crossed that line if it weren't for Daniel's weakness. He cursed himself for it. It wasn't as if he wasn't used to being alone. He'd had a lifetime of experience at it and had long ago mastered the art of using isolation as a protective shield. And it wasn't as it he wasn't accustomed to being cast aside by Nick. He'd had a lifetime of experience with that as well. His grandfather was consistent, if nothing else. 

But somehow that night it had all come crashing down around him. On that one night it had all seemed too much to bear and Daniel had wanted nothing more than to go home and curl up in a ball and sob until the breath was burned from his body. But Jack wouldn't let him. Jack knew, just as he always had, when Daniel was hurt beyond endurance. He'd taken him home and offered him the warmth of his hearth and the solid strength of his friendship. He'd plied him with liquor to help loosen his tongue, to break free the hurt and let it crumble to dust. But the whiskey had also loosened his inhibitions and left him vulnerable in a way he normally loathed. His need was too raw, too apparent and he could only cringe in shame. When Jack leaned forward, granting him the gentle comfort of touch, of warm, soft lips upon his own, Daniel could not pull away. He surrendered himself completely.

There was no thought that night, only feeling and a wealth of sensation, and Daniel reveled in it. His need had been so great and Jack had matched him, hunger to hunger. The first time their bodies merged had been raw and primal. They'd moved together on instinct and Daniel had been overwhelmed by Jack's desperation, by his fierce tenderness. It was unexpected, it was incredible. It was everything.

The second time had been sweet and gentle and achingly beautiful. He remembered seeing Jack braced above him, his lean body silvered by moonlight and his face blurred by shadow. He remembered the touch of Jack's hands, the subtle pull of hard calloused fingers against sensitive skin, the faint rasp of stubbled cheeks, the wetness of his inquisitive tongue. When Jack took him in his mouth, Daniel had thought he would shatter into a million pieces. But he'd also known that Jack would put him together again, binding him and holding him with the strength of his own feeling. He had slept in Jack's arms that night, secure in the knowledge that he was safe and loved and no longer alone.

When they awoke the next day they'd been shy and uncomfortable, but really it was no less than Daniel had expected. The morning after was always a bit awkward even when it didn't involve your best friend who also happened to be of the same gender. Jack didn't know what to say and uncharacteristically, neither did Daniel. Daniel didn't push. He knew they needed to address what had happened between them, but he was willing to wait until Jack was ready, and if he was being honest with himself, until he was ready as well. He wasn't nave; he knew that everything had changed between them because of that fateful night. But he also believed that everything would be OK. He and Jack were friends, after all. They cared deeply for one another and even if they could never again be lovers, Daniel was confident that their friendship would survive unscathed.

In the end, Daniel waited too long. He realized too late that he should have taken the initiative and forced the issue. Instead, he waited patiently, watching as Jack became uncomfortable in his presence, as the other man refused to make eye contact, and always carefully arranged for someone else to be with them as if they were a pair of randy teenagers in need of a chaperone.

Then events had overtaken them; Daniel's appendicitis, Jack's disappearance and subsequent reappearance on Thor's ship, the desperate battle fought above Earth's skies and then the emptiness and silence as they awaited the return of missing comrades.

Those nine days spent waiting and wondering had been among the worst he ever lived. It was like losing Sha're all over again, the absence and the sorrow and above all the not knowing. The sense of loss was so keen but he felt guilty even acknowledging its existence, as if the pain and grief were in themselves a kind of betrayal, a loss of faith. His emotions careened madly from denial to acceptance to desperate hope and back again. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, at times he couldn't even breath as the terrible possibility of losing them, of losing Jack, crashed in upon him making his gut twist and his heart clench in his chest. He tried to retain an air of normalcy, plaster on a facade of control. He could feel everyone around him regarding him with an air of pity and sadness and he wanted to scream at them, tell them that he didn't need pity. He was fine, he was safe. He was alone.

When Daniel heard the klaxon blaring through the corridors of the SGC, he felt himself come alive for the first time since the destruction of Thor's ship. It was like waking from a horrible nightmare and he raced through the hallways, barely noticing the stitch of pain burning in his side or the stunned looks as he bounded heedlessly towards the gate room. And then they stepped through, real and solid and alive and Daniel was sure his heart would burst. His studied them, drank them in before focusing exclusively on the one that mattered most. Jack. Jack was home and he was safe.

Jack glanced towards him and Daniel beamed back at him, all his relief and affection bubbling to the surface, making him giddy. And then Jack...turned away. Daniel felt his face fall and a sudden chill stole through him. Jack continued talking to the General, recounting their absence while Daniel stood there bewildered. It was as if they now stood on opposite sides of a deep chasm. They could see one another, but the distance was such that they could no longer touch and never would again. And so it began.

As the days shaded into weeks, Daniel could feel the distance growing steadily between them. He tried to reach out, but Jack would have none of it, and every time Daniel reached out, Jack pushed him away, each time harder and more forcefully than the last. That was when the flirting began. Daniel had always known there was a certain...attraction between Jack and Sam, just as he knew that Sam had something of a crush on the older man. It had never been anything serious and neither of them had ever acted upon it. The occasional glance or flirtatious smile was the only manifestation that had ever occurred during the three years they had served together. 

But suddenly Jack was actively pursuing Sam and Daniel found himself on the outside looking in, hurt and bewildered in equal measure. It made no sense. Beyond the regs that specifically forbade such fraternization, there was also the matter of Sam's position. In the early days of SG-1 he and Sam had had many a conversation about the pitfalls of being an outsider in the rigid military hierarchy. It was something they had in common, he as a civilian, she as a woman. Sam was very conscious the deep-rooted bias she had to fight against constantly. There were more than a few men who erroneously believed that she had gained her place and rank through sexual favors, that she bought every advance and promotion with her body rather than earning them with her brains and determination and hard work. It was a lie, of course; Sam was brilliant, dedicated and a top-notch soldier by anyone's standards. But Sam, he knew, also understood all too well that even the perception of inappropriate conduct could be as damning as the act itself. Consequently, she was very careful and very controlled in all situations. Sam would never initiate such a liaison, though she might be tempted to respond to advances sent her way. 

So Daniel watched Jack and Sam together, noticing how Jack smiled just a bit brighter, gazed a bit more fondly, let his hand rest on her arm a bit longer than was seemly, fully aware that it was always done in full view of himself. Jack was sending him a message. Jack was straight, Jack liked women in general and Sam in particular, and most importantly there was no place for Daniel in Jack's merry little heterosexual little world.

Message received and understood.

It was just as his relationship with Jack was falling apart that Daniel embarked on a new and unexpected friendship with Major Paul Davis. It had happened almost without Daniel being aware of it. He'd known the JCS liaison for over a year and their interaction had always been peripheral and limited largely to times of extreme crisis. Davis was an unlikely candidate to become Daniel's friend. They had nothing in common, even less than he and Jack did, or so it seemed. But Davis had been there for Daniel when he thought he'd lost Jack on Thor's ship and then later when he lost Jack for real. Major Davis was always solicitous and courteous to a fault and Daniel found his gentle consideration to be a soothing contrast to Jack's increasingly caustic behavior. Even as Daniel felt himself being estranged from his teammates, particularly Jack and Sam, he found himself drawing closer to Major Davis. 

The relationship he developed with Major Davis was undeniably very different from the one he'd had with Jack. It was less intense, less demanding and certainly less complicated. The physical distance between them made things more difficult, but in truth it was easier to cope with than the emotional distance that separated him and Jack even when the two men occupied the same room. 

Initially their contact had been limited to conversations whenever they encountered one another at the SGC but soon it graduated to telephone calls and regular e-mails. Daniel hadn't realized how much he enjoyed having someone with whom he could talk without having to censure his every word and omit any reference to his work. As Major Davis already knew everything about the SGC, Daniel didn't need to obfuscate and prevaricate and it allowed for a candor he couldn't enjoy with anyone outside the SGC. But in truth they rarely talked about work and that was even more refreshing. It gave Daniel's life an element of normalcy that was sorely lacking up until then. 

Over time he'd come to realize they had more in common than he would ever have guessed: a shared love of French romantic composers and Victorian poetry, an appreciation for the cutting wit of Oscar Wilde and the irreverence of Monty Python. They were little things, but they helped to build a foundation for the unlikely friendship. And after all, weren't unlikely friendships something of a specialty of his?

And then a month ago, Daniel finally revealed to Paul precisely what had happened between Jack and himself. It had been a risk, revealing such a thing to another military man, but Daniel trusted Paul. Even if he didn't approve, he would never say anything. He was far too honorable to reveal a confidence in that way. And in reality, Paul had already worked it out for himself more or less. He hadn't failed to notice the distance between Daniel and Jack, and Paul had been witness to Jack's increasingly callous treatment of him over the past few months. 

It had been just after they had rescued Jack and Teal'c from the crippled death glider that had almost become their frozen tomb in space. When Jack had returned to full consciousness in the cargo bay of Jacob's ship, for one brief moment he had smiled at Daniel, a genuine smile of the type Daniel had not seen in so many months. He found himself smiling at Jack in return, purely on reflex, and then Jack had turned away and sought out Sam, offering praise and gratitude for her efforts in rescuing them. It was another casual twist of the knife and Daniel should have expected it, but he'd let his guard down and Jack had succeeded in drawing blood once again. When they returned to the SGC and the throngs of relieved and jubilant personnel, Paul had noticed immediately that Daniel was on edge and had suggested they have dinner together after the debriefing.

They'd gone out to dinner as agreed and eventually wound up at Daniel's apartment where he'd confessed the whole sordid tale over a bottle of Shiraz. Paul hadn't been shocked or offended, at least not by Daniel. He'd been sympathetic and supportive and outraged on Daniel's behalf, assuring Daniel that he had a right to be hurt and to feel betrayed. Paul's voice, he remembered vividly, had been warm and soft throughout, a soothing balm to his restless, thwarted emotions. And for the first time in months, Daniel felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He swore from that point forward he would put Jack O'Neill and that disastrous one night stand firmly behind him. //

The car bounced suddenly over a pothole, jarring Daniel back to full awareness. He cursed himself for allowing his mind to drift off once more. Pulling his upper body straight, he turned his attention back to the conversation.

Paul smiled at him and made a disparaging remark about the state of the roadways in and around DC before continuing his discourse. 

"Now, as I mentioned, you'll be staying at the Ritz-Carlton at Pentagon City. It's quite close to the Pentagon proper. There's an informal reception tonight at 1900 hours at General Stanley's home. A staff car will arrive at the hotel lobby at 1830 to take you there. The meetings themselves will begin tomorrow at 1000 hours."

Daniel couldn't help but smile. He'd bet anything that that last little recap had been for his benefit exclusively. He wouldn't have been surprised if Paul had noticed his distraction; there wasn't much the other man didn't notice.

The car veered suddenly and as Daniel glanced out the window, he realized they'd arrived at their destination. An enthusiastic bellboy opened the car door and then set himself to the task of gathering their luggage with practiced efficiency. Paul saluted Jack once again and offered him a nod and a smile before taking his leave. Daniel watched as the staff car pulled away before following Jack and their suitcases through the sliding glass doors.

* * *

'Christ, could this be any more boring?' Jack thought to himself as he took another sip of Scotch, resisting the urge to down it in one long pull. 

They'd been here for nearly an hour, mingling with the suits and Pentagon pencil pushers and their assorted spouses and lackeys. It was bad enough he had to spend three days trapped in a windowless conference room with these guys, but here he was playing nice, wearing his best fake smile and trying not to vent his spleen or his lunch all over the nice plastic people. 'At least they're serving the good stuff,' he reflected wryly, taking another drink. 

He'd never much liked these kinds of functions. He had a true soldier's disdain for petty politics and a deep-seated scorn for the preening, the flattery and all the vacuous, useless chatter that went with it. And the older he got, the less patience he seemed to have with it all. Unfortunately, it was part of his job, whether off world trying to make nice with the natives in a first contact situation, or in the hallowed halls of DC schmoozing up members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Appropriations Committee. He shied away from the thought that he was nothing more than a whore in dress blues, performing on command. 'Its just part of the job. No one says you have to like it, just do it.'

As he moved around the room casting another faux smile at some DC matron with red lacquered nails and impeccably coiffed hair, he scanned the room looking for his partner in this little performance. He quickly found Daniel ensconced within a knot of admirers. He shook his head mentally. For all his reticence and apparent shyness, Daniel really shone in such an environment. The linguist was in his element, playing to a fascinated crowd, gesturing animatedly, despite the wine glass in one hand, a soft smile lighting his features. Yep, Daniel sure knew how to make an impression. Jack had to admit that Hammond had made a smart call sending Daniel here. Daniel would roll out the charm and that devastatingly sweet smile tonight and then tomorrow he'd pull out the big guns, the staggering IQ and the brilliant, incisive mind. So long as Daniel kept hold of that occasionally volatile temper of his, they should do alright. 

Jack watched as Major Davis moved over to Daniel, neatly extricating him from his smitten fans. He almost laughed as one of the women-General Everett's wife, he thought-looked like she was going to attach herself to Daniel and come along for the ride. But Davis wasn't the JCS liaison for nothing. With a few soft words and a deft twist of the torso, he managed to lead Daniel away with nary a breath of complaint. 'Smooth, very smooth,' Jack thought in approval, sipping his drink once more. 

Davis moved Daniel away from the rest of the crowd, obviously wanting to speak to him alone. Nothing surprising about that, he probably just wanted to give him some additional instructions regarding the upcoming meetings, of the kind not suited to non-classified ears. Jack was mildly surprised to see Davis's hand lingering on Daniel's arm, was even more surprised to see the broad, beaming smile Daniel was wearing and to catch the edge of his throaty chuckle. It was...well, odd. Jack had had no idea that Daniel and Davis knew each other so well. Then again, after-what? two years--of disasters and crises and foothold scenarios, the SGC had given Davis plenty of reasons to come to Colorado. So maybe it wasn't so surprising after all that the two men had become so familiar. It was just another of the strange quirks of the world they lived in.

With a casual glance at his watch, Jack realized that he still had a long way to go before they were sprung from this lily scented hell hole, so he might as well make the most of it. He drifted over to the bar and ordered up another Scotch.

* * *

Jack tugged at his tie, pulling the constricting strip of fabric off his neck with a bit more force than was absolutely necessary as he and Daniel made their way along the hotel corridor towards their respective rooms. The first day of meetings at the Pentagon was now thankfully over, and Jack was looking forward to a relaxing shower, a full body collapse on his bed, and a hideously overpriced bottle of Scotch from the mini-bar. Not necessarily in that order. 

He had to admit that the first round of meetings had gone better than he'd expected. Hammond was right; things had apparently been arranged by those sympathetic to the SGC and its current benevolent leadership. The Secretary of Defense himself was chairing the meeting and had opened the proceedings by emphasizing how pleased the President was with the performance of the SGC, its personnel and especially its field teams. There had been much praise for the alliances they had forged with the Asgard, the Tollans and the Tok'ra and their ongoing diplomatic successes, as well as their recent establishment of two off-world scientific posts and the "acquisition" of a trinium mine on P4R-789. All in all, it had been quite the little love fest though Jack, being suspicious by nature, kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Although the meetings were done for the day, his official duties, unfortunately, were not. Apparently, Daniel had worked his usual magic on General Everett's wife, so much so, that she had conned her husband into hosting an impromptu dinner party that evening, thus killing Jack's solid plan to unwind in front of the TV with whatever sporting event was on tap. He sighed as he swiped his keycard through the lock. It looked like he'd be making nice in his dress blues two nights running.

He glanced over at Daniel who was occupying the suite next to his. "Daniel?" he queried.

The other man glanced over at sound of his name, the motion of his hand on the door handle arrested. 

"I'll see you in the lobby at 1900."

"Sure," Daniel responded, distracted, as he turned the handle and slid into his own room.

Jack stood there in the hallway, watching the place where Daniel had been moments ago, before entering his own suite, closing the door firmly behind him.

Two hours later, freshly showered, shaved and bolstered with the warm glow of alcohol in his belly, Jack strode purposefully from elevator into the luxurious lobby of the Ritz-Carlton. He flicked a glance at his watch as he moved towards the cluster of soft, inviting chairs. 1852. 'Good,' he thought, 'right on time.'

His footsteps slowed and for a second he reconsidered his optimistic assessment. Already seated in two of the comfortable chairs near the lobby entrance were Daniel and Major Davis. They were seated facing one another, their chairs drawn close as they leaned inwards to talk, Davis with his elbows resting on his knees, and Daniel with his hands in full flight. They were clearly absorbed in conversation; Daniel was gesticulating with his accustomed enthusiasm while Davis wore the rapt expression Jack had seen on many occasions. Hell, he'd even worn himself a time or two. So focused were they that they didn't notice his presence until he was perhaps three feet away. Both men stood immediately with an alacrity that vaguely reminded Jack of a couple of teenagers caught red-handed ogling a Playboy centerfold.

"Daniel, Major," Jack offered by way of greeting, his tone neutral. Davis gave him a crisp salute and Daniel a brief smile in return. Jack couldn't help but note Daniel's sudden shift from ebullience to indifference at his arrival and he felt a sharp pang at the change in manner, knowing he was responsible for it. But more than that, he felt a sudden unreasoning resentment towards the lucky recipient of Daniel's earlier enthusiasm. It had been a long time since Jack had seen Daniel so relaxed with anyone and the fact that it wasn't him rankled for some reason Jack couldn't quite identify. It was stupid, he knew; after all, he was the one who had pushed Daniel away. Daniel certainly had a right to make other friends, to spend time with other people who valued him and enjoyed his company. But somehow this friendship between Davis and Daniel made Jack uncomfortable.

He ruthlessly suppressed those unworthy sentiments and focused on the fellow officer standing before him. "Major Davis," he began, keeping his voice pleasant, "I didn't expect to see you here. I thought they were sending a staff car to pick us up."

Davis smiled, that slick, confident smile that Jack had come to associate with politicians, boot lickers and smug, technologically advanced aliens. "Well sir, since your hotel was on my way to General Everett's home, I took the liberty of coming myself. It seemed foolish to tie up a staff car all night for no reason," he explained amicably.

It made perfect sense, of course. Jack would have done precisely the same thing were the roles reversed, but still...it bothered him to a degree that was unexpected and unwanted. Perhaps it was Davis' polished demeanor. Perhaps it was the way he and Daniel seemed to hit it off, the ease and enthusiasm with which they seemed to communicate. Perhaps it was the way Davis was standing close to Daniel even now or the fact that Daniel didn't surreptitiously move away from him as he normally did when people invaded his jealously guarded personal space.

"That's mighty thoughtful of you, Major," Jack responded, hoping his smile hadn't shaded into a scowl in spite of his concerted efforts to maintain an affable front. 

Daniel was wearing his half-frown, the one where his lips pressed flat and he got one deep furrow in his forehead. That was his 'Something seems a bit off,' expression and Jack quickly acted to keep it from developing into his full blown 'Something is seriously fucked up' expression.

"Well?" Jack asked glancing between the two men. "Are we all set to go? I'm getting a bit hungry myself and something tells my the General's wife will have pulled out all the stops for Daniel here," he concluded with a broad grin and a mocking leer.

The flippant remark worked like a charm. Daniel huffed indignantly while Davis, smiling widely, led them to the parking lot, giving them a brief rundown of who would be present at dinner.

They reached Davis' car which-surprise, surprise-turned out to be a beemer, a fucking yuppie car, then they did the usual awkward shuffle trying to decide who sat in the front and who got the back. Jack graciously ceded the front seat to the longer legged Daniel, before slipping into his own place in the slightly cramped back seat.

"Are you alright back there, sir?" Davis asked politely.

"Fine."

"Are you sure, Jack? We could switch seats if you like." Daniel offered, his body twisted in the seat so he could look back directly at him.

Jack was so surprised by Daniel's thoughtful gesture that he simply grunted a negative. Daniel nodded in response, then turned back around as the car started and they were on their way.

It was a short drive to the General's house in Arlington. Twenty-five minutes later they were parked in the driveway of a large Tudor style house fronted by a neatly manicured lawn. They were greeted in the foyer by the genial General Everett and his wife who insisted that they all must call her Charlotte. She immediately and quite predictably took possession of Daniel's arm and steered the hapless young man in the direction of the living room, chattering vivaciously as she pulled him along. The General merely chuckled at what was apparently a not uncommon sight and ushered Jack and Davis towards the refreshments. 

Dinner was a smaller and more casual affair than the reception the previous night. Well, as casual as you can get with a three star General, a two star General, their spouses and a few members of their staff thrown in for good measure. Major Davis was the most junior officer present and Daniel was the only civilian, apart from the four wives, in attendance. Daniel was once again the center of attention, regaling Charlotte and her friends with tales of his travels in exotic-and earthbound-climes. Jack talked with various of the officers, pleased to find that General Stanley like himself was a devoted fisherman. Hard not to like a guy who appreciates the fine art of fly fishing. 

But while the dinner conversation was relatively pleasant, Jack's mind kept drifting back to the sight of Daniel and Davis cozied up together in the hotel lobby, their heads close together, their knees almost touching. He watched them now, seated at opposite ends of the table, talking with the people seated next to them. But every once in a while Jack could have sworn that they shared a glance, or a sly smile over the rim of their wineglasses. He wasn't sure if he was really seeing it or if it was his own imagination working over time. And even if he _was_ seeing it, he wasn't precisely sure what it really meant. Were they just very good friends? Or were they more than friends?

Jack felt himself go cold at that thought. Could they be? No. No! They weren't, they were friends, nothing more. He looked over at Daniel engaged in a lighthearted discussion with their hostess, gesturing emphatically with a salad fork. No. There is absolutely nothing going on between them.

The problem was, the insidious possibility was lodged irresistibly in his brain and it simply wouldn't go away. It haunted him all through the remainder of the dinner and later during the drive back to the hotel near midnight. Daniel had been reclining in the front seat, slightly buzzed from the wine and the good food, and more relaxed than Jack had seen him in a long time. He and Davis chatted the whole way back, so completely at ease with one another. Davis was telling a story about 'Charlotte' and the shenanigans of her high-strung poodle Mitzi that had Daniel chortling with laughter. It was nice to hear Daniel laugh, he hadn't done it in so long and Jack felt another pang because Davis, not he, had been the one to elicit it.

As he lay in his bed that night, Jack found he couldn't sleep. His restless mind kept seeing Daniel and Davis together in the lobby. He kept twisting and turning the scene over as if it were some strange puzzle that could be solved if he only looked at it the right way. And as he lay there staring up at the ceiling he couldn't help but wonder how he'd missed it. This hadn't happened overnight; Daniel and Davis hadn't become this close in the space of twenty-four hours. Obviously it had been going on for some time now, and this...friendship-he refused to consider any other word for it-had been developing for some time. An image suddenly flashed in his mind... 

// It was the aftermath of the fucked up treaty with the Tok'ra when that damned bitch Anise convinced him, Carter and everyone else that they were zantarks or whatever in the hell they'd called it. It had been a mistake, the zanex detector had screwed up, misinterpreting their reluctance to talk about their fucked up and entirely inappropriate flirtation as a sign they'd been reprogrammed. They'd gotten it straightened out, but by the time they realized the truth, it was too late. Martouf was the real assassin and they'd been forced to kill...no, Carter had been forced to kill him, before he offed the President and anyone else who got in his way.

Carter had been devastated. She'd been very close to Marty because of the memories of Jolinar that still resided in her consciousness. He had no idea how Carter herself felt about him. She'd never said, and Jack had never had the balls, nor the bad taste, to ask outright. Regardless, it was a loss for all of them and for Carter most of all. He'd led her back to her quarters and had sat with her without speaking, offering her whatever comfort he could by his presence until Fraiser had arrived. She'd be more comfortable talking about this with Fraiser, he knew, and Jack had been more than happy to hand over the task to her.

He'd wandered the corridors for a time, thinking of how fucked up all of this was. While he'd never exactly considered Marty to be one his best buds, he was willing to acknowledge that he was the only snake apart from Jacob that Jack was willing to trust to any degree. In Jack's opinion, this wasn't a great sign for things to come on the whole Earth/Tok'ra alliance front.

Eventually his aimless steps led him to the gate room. The proceedings were now over. The treaty had been signed, the President and the Tok'ra contingent had gone their separate ways, and there were only a few people still milling about, mostly officers in their dress blues, a couple of SFs. As he scanned the room, his eyes fell upon Daniel standing on the other side of the room talking to someone in uniform whose back was turned towards Jack. Daniel was still dressed in his meet and greet suit, looking stiff and uncomfortable, his arms wrapped around himself, his head lowered. As they shifted their bodies, Jack got a glimpse of the other man's face, immediately recognizing Major Davis. He vaguely remembered hearing that the Secretary of Defense was going to accompany the President along with a small group representing the Pentagon, so naturally Davis, as the JCS liaison was there. Hell, he'd probably been the one briefing the President on the flight from Washington. 

Jack was too far away to hear what they were saying, but he recognized all the signs; Daniel was distressed about something, presumably Martouf's death. Davis was speaking to him, their heads close together and Jack had noticed how Davis' hand seemed to linger on Daniel's arm in a gesture that was comforting, supportive yet strangely intimate. He'd remembered thinking at the time that it seemed out of place. Daniel carefully guarded his personal space and he was very selective about who he allowed to touch him. While he would tolerate a hug or a casual touch from most people, he would usually move away as quickly as he could without causing offense. The fact that Daniel had not rejected Davis' gesture suggested a greater degree of trust than Jack would have expected to exist between the two men.

Strangely and inexplicably discomforted by the sight, Jack had been about to cross the gate room to speak with the two men, when he was intercepted by General Hammond. His commanding officer's eyes were soft as he asked after Carter. Jack had offered his own assurances, caught up in a swell of fierce admiration for this man and his devotion to his people. And as he stood talking with Hammond, out of the corner of his eye he saw the ever solicitous Davis guiding Daniel out of the gate room, a hand lightly pressed against the small of Daniel's back. They left the room without a backwards glance. //

Jack scrubbed his hand over his weary eyes. It had been there, all the time, right in front of him. His mind replayed a dozen similar scenes he'd witnessed between Daniel and Davis, filled with simple, casual gestures and pleasant smiles. Nothing untoward, nothing improper, but as Jack reviewed those scenes in light of their recent behavior, there could be no doubt that it; whatever IT was, it had been going on for some time now. 

How could he not have seen it before? How could he not have known? Those questions kept echoing through his mind, but he already knew the answer. He hadn't bothered to notice. He'd been so wrapped up in his own panicked feelings, wallowing in denial and flirting relentlessly with Carter to reaffirm his suddenly precarious heterosexuality, that he'd shut Daniel out completely. For eight months he hadn't given Daniel the time of day, let alone paid any attention to who he was spending his time with now that Jack had cut him out of his life so completely.

Jack felt a terrible wave of guilt wash over him, ashamed at his callous and--let's be honest, here--intentionally hurtful behavior. How must it have felt to Daniel to suddenly find himself cut off and abandoned by someone he considered his friend, his best friend, no less? In his scrabble to obliterate his own confusion and embarrassment, Jack hadn't just deprived Daniel of his lover, he'd also deprived him of his friend. He'd taken away his friendship as if somehow Daniel had ceased to be worthy of that particular boon, simply because he's slept with Jack. It wasn't Daniel's fault, none of it was. Jack could admit that now. He was the one who'd crossed the line. He'd been the one to take advantage of a desperately lonely, unhappy and drunken Daniel, he'd been the one who freaked in the aftermath and pushed Daniel away, punishing him for Jack's own indiscretion. 

And that's precisely what he'd done, he realized. He hadn't just distanced himself from Daniel, he'd turned the younger man into his very own scapegoat, pinning all of his sins unto Daniel, as if pushing him away could somehow rectify, or at the very least efface the trespass he'd committed. 'My partner in crime,' he thought, his heart lurching in his chest.

Was it really any wonder then that Daniel might turn to someone else for friendship, for companionship, for comfort, filling the place that Jack had relinquished? Davis seemed an unlikely candidate for the role of Daniel's friend, but then again, so did Jack. Jack would have thought that Daniel would have had enough of uptight, repressed military types by now. But Davis was a different breed of soldier from Jack, more politician and diplomat than grunt. Davis was smoother, more polished, better read and better spoken than Jack would ever be. In truth, the more he thought about it, the better suited Davis was to the role. Better suited, and perhaps, the better man in other ways as well. He'd seen the evidence of that with his own eyes. Davis made Daniel smile, he made him laugh. Daniel was at ease around Davis in a way he wasn't with Jack, at least not anymore. Whether there was something more than friendship behind all those fleeting smiles and casual gestures, Jack didn't know. He'd long since forfeited any right to judge Daniel and his actions and Jack damn well knew it. Maybe the kindest thing he could do for Daniel was to just stay out of the way. Perhaps in the end, the greatest service he could render their friendship was just to let Daniel go for good.

With those heartbreaking thoughts echoing through his mind, Jack finally drifted off into a fitful slumber.

 

Chapter Four

Paul closed the folder in front of him and stood, his posture straight, eyes forward, as the senior officers vacated the briefing room. The second day of meetings had gone off without a hitch. Both the Colonel and Daniel had handled themselves admirably, proving once again, if such proof were truly necessary, why they were part of the flagship team of the SGC. During the afternoon both men had been questioned closely about their experience in the field, and specific missions were discussed in great detail. The questions themselves weren't hostile, per se, but they were pointed and rather probing, notably in regard to matters such as how active a role field teams should play, if any, in local politics. The example of Euronda was cited in particular. To their credit, neither O'Neill nor Daniel lost his cool; their discussion of events was incisive, as was their counter argument of how truly unique each and every first contact experience was and the dangers inherent in drawing too close a parallel to existing earth cultures and mores. Their restraint was all the more impressive to Paul who knew firsthand just how much of a strain that particular mission had put on the team as a whole and on Daniel and O'Neill in particular. Though Daniel had never divulged the specifics, Paul was fairly certain that that mission had been one of the very first after 'the breakup' as Paul had privately come to think of the event that had lead to the collapse of the friendship between Daniel and his CO.

Paul glanced at the man across the table from him, standing at attention. O'Neill had been remarkably...subdued all day. He snorted inwardly. 'Subdued' was not a word he would normally have associated with the dynamic and strong willed Colonel O'Neill, but it seemed appropriate on this occasion. It was more than the absence of the man's wry humor and his trademark sarcasm that had earned him more than a few reprimands over the years. No, he thought to himself, there was something else going on here.

He shifted his gaze to the man standing next to O'Neill. Daniel was frowning, casting his own nervous glance towards his companion. No surprise there. If Paul realized that something wasn't quite right with O'Neill, then certainly Daniel, with all his years of experience dealing with the moods of the irritable Colonel, must have noticed as well. 

Paul didn't think it was the meeting itself, which had gone very well. No, this was something else all together, and he'd bet his clusters that that something was somehow connected to Daniel, though he didn't know how precisely. When he'd spoken with Daniel the night before as they waited in the lobby, it was clear that there had been no change in the ongoing stalemate that defined his relationship with O'Neill in recent months. Maybe there was nothing wrong with O'Neill at all. Perhaps he was just overreacting now that he was ready to take the plunge, and finally make a play for Daniel, provided of course that both Daniel and the ever-contrary O'Neill cooperated with his plan.

He waited until everyone else had cleared out of the conference room before setting his plan in motion. He cleared his throat to get the attention of the two men.

"There aren't any official activities planned or this evening, sirs, so you're free until tomorrow morning. I thought perhaps you might be interested in going out to dinner. I'm sure Dr. Jackson would love 'La Colline.' Fabulous traditional French cuisine and the best foie gras this side of Paris."

Daniel's eyes lit up immediately. He had a fondness for foie gras, Paul knew, and although French cuisine was fairly common, good foie gras was not. Daniel turned hopeful eyes on O'Neill and Paul tried not to grimace at the way Daniel automatically looked to the other man for approval. It was just a courtesy and Daniel was nothing if not polite, but still, Paul would just as soon leave O'Neill out of the equation this time. 

That was his hope; that O'Neill would beg off, deterred by the idea of  
a long and tedious repast of 'Frog food' so that Paul could spend the evening alone with Daniel. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but it was the best Paul could come up with, short of stating outright his intention to dine with Daniel alone. Somehow, he didn't think O'Neill would be pleased, despite the obvious distance between himself and Daniel. Ever since Daniel had arrived in DC, Paul had had virtually no opportunity to speak with him alone. A few stolen moments at the reception Tuesday night, the all too brief tte--tte in the hotel lobby the previous day, that was all. And Paul wanted, needed more. 

After two years, Paul believed that the time was finally right to offer Daniel more than his friendship. Paul had never pushed. He'd known from the beginning that there was more than friendship between Daniel and the Colonel, had seen the truth of it even before they themselves had. He had also understood that O'Neill reigned supreme in Daniel's heart and that there was no way he could ever hope to compete with the other man. Paul eventually had resigned himself to forever coveting but never having what he so desperately wanted, until that brief and ruinous love affair had torn the two men apart and ripped their friendship asunder. Paul hadn't believed it at first. It seemed unreal, as if some unknown deity had just handed him his heart's desire before he even gave voice to the request. But it was real. Daniel and O'Neill had become lovers and then O'Neill had cast him aside and scorned him in the worst manner imaginable.

Despite his burgeoning hopes, Paul didn't push. He knew how fragile Daniel was in the wake of that debacle, how vulnerable and bereft and utterly bewildered he had been. So Paul had offered his own friendship, and all the comfort he could, trying to fill the gap in Daniel's heart. But still he waited until he was absolutely certain that O'Neill was out of the picture and Daniel was ready to move on. Paul had believed that that time had come at last. All he needed was the opportunity to be alone with Daniel to find out whether or not he was interested. The signs were there, or so he thought. They were subtle and Paul couldn't even be sure Daniel knew he was sending them, but with any luck, he'd know soon enough.

"Jack?" Daniel queried, his voice soft.

Paul held his breath, schooled his expression to neutrality, and awaited O'Neill's response. 'Say no,' he thought furiously to himself, 'say no, you son of a bitch.'

O'Neill frowned slightly, casting his gaze from Daniel to Paul and back again. "Actually, I'm a bit worn out from all these damned meetings. I was thinking of making an early night of it. Order some room service, watch a little TV, just kick back and relax."

Daniel's face fell a little in disappointment, they could both see it, but it was O'Neill who rushed to speak. "Why don't the two of you go on without me. I'm not that keen on French food anyway and obviously Daniel has his heart set on a bunch of smelly cheeses," he added wryly.

"Are you sure, Jack?" Daniel asked, his inbred solicitude overriding his annoyance at O'Neill's last comment.

"Sure," he waved a hand casually. "Go have some fun. After all, Uncle Sam's footing the bill, so you might as well get the most out of it, right?"

Daniel nodded.

Paul smiled. "Sergeant Penbrook will drive you both back to the hotel." He turned and spoke directly to Daniel. "I'll come by and pick you up at, say 1900?"

"I'll be ready," Daniel replied with a smile of his own. 

Paul saluted O'Neill. "Have a good evening, sir."

"You too, Major."

And with that, the two men departed the conference room, leaving an ebullient Paul in their wake. He took a deep breath, regained control of his manic smile and then strode from the room, turning out the lights as he left.

* * *

Paul leaned back in his wrought iron chair and sipped his wine, his eyes never leaving the animated face of the man seated across the table. Once it was clear that O'Neill would not be joining them for dinner, Paul had introduced a slight change in plan. While 'La Colline' had incredible food, the ambience was a tad too somber and uptight for what he intended to be the first phase in a seduction. A change in venue was in order and one quick phone call later he had reservations at the Tabard Inn. Not only was it located in one of the oldest and most charming hotels in the city, but the restaurant boasted a beautiful garden terrace screened by ivy covered walls and dotted with outdoor sculpture. On a pleasant summer evening such as this, it was the ideal setting for a relaxed and intimate dinner for two. 

Daniel hadn't been bothered by the change of plans; quite the contrary, he'd been delighted by the opportunity to enjoy a bit of fresh air and sunshine after two days spent cloistered in an airless conference room in the Pentagon. He was in prime form, Paul noticed, relaxed and comfortable and lightened by delicious food and a fine bottle of Chardonnay. The conversation flowed easily between them and Paul found himself opening up without hesitation, drawn in by the warmth of Daniel's smile and his genuine curiosity.

"So you're an Air Force brat, like Sam." Daniel commented as his fork broke off a piece of peach pie.

Paul nodded, taking another sip of wine before putting the glass back down on the table. "Yep. Third generation Air Force, to be precise. Dad's retired now, but he teaches from time to time at the Academy and does some consulting work as well."

"And you're the only one that went into the military?"

"Yes. I know Dad was a bit disappointed when Rich choose to go into medicine instead of the Air Force, but he supported his decision. It never hurts to have a doctor in the family, after all." Paul remarked, quirking a smile at the old chestnut. "He's a pediatrician. He's got a private practice in Bethesda. He's doing really well for himself."

"And your sister? She never considered the military?" Daniel asked before taking another bite of his dessert.

Paul nearly choked on his wine at that question. "Laurie? God forbid! No, the military was definitely not in her sights. Far too liberal. She's a law professor at U.Va. Her field of expertise is civil liberties."

"Ah," Daniel nodded sagely. "I guess she wouldn't exactly be suited to the military."

"Actually, I think she'd make a hell of a soldier. Highly disciplined, dedicated, resourceful. And she does have a healthy respect for the armed services. She just doesn't have any desire to be a part of it."

"It must be nice, having all of your family nearby," Daniel observed. 

Paul couldn't help but notice Daniel's wistful tone or his bittersweet expression at those words. It was a clear reminder that this man had no family. Orphaned as a young child, abandoned by his grandfather, raised in a foster care system that was overburdened and under-funded, the concept of family was one with which he had tragically little experience. He gave Daniel his warmest and most sympathetic smile.

"It is, though we don't get to see each other very much. Rich's practice keeps him pretty busy and with two little girls and his wife Trish expecting a third, they don't have a lot of free time. And Laurie is working hard to get tenure. I don't need to tell you how frazzled she is most of the time."

Daniel chuckled at that. "Ah, no. I, uh, have a pretty good idea. All things considered, I think the military would have been the less hazardous option." 

He shook his head, sighing. "I don't know how many times I've tried to explain to Jack how ruthless and cutthroat academia can be, he simply refuses to see it. 'If they don't pull actual knives, then it ain't cutthroat, Danny boy,' he'd always say. Personally, I wouldn't be surprised is some of my former colleagues didn't carry a stiletto or two while they prepared the next departmental coup." 

"Well, I don't know anything about knife toting assistant professors, but as someone who has experience with both the military and academia, I'll bow to your greater knowledge on the subject," Paul said tilting his wineglass in an ironic salute.

Daniel lifted his own wineglass in acknowledgement. "As well you should," he replied primly, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

It felt good to sit here like this, engaging in friendly conversation, basking in the last faint rays of the sun as twilight shaded into dusk, surrounded by the gentle murmurs coming from the people seated at the other tables. The only thing that marred an otherwise perfect evening was Daniel's occasional, and apparently unconscious references to O'Neill. They lingered over coffee and Paul secretly reveled in the sight of Daniel's expressive features lit by the small candle in the center of the table. 

Their coffee finished, Paul suggested they go for a walk around the Tidal Basin and Daniel readily agreed. A half an hour later found them strolling along the water's edge making their way towards the Lincoln Memorial. It was a perfect night, clear and cool and bright. A full moon hung low in the cloudless sky and it bathed everything in a soft, silvery light. The oppressive humidity of the afternoon had vanished completely, giving way to a cool breeze that made the branches on the surrounding trees shiver and dance. They walked side by side, not really talking much, their arms occasionally brushing as they moved. There was a sense of tranquility in this place that remained miraculously untouched by the cars that whizzed by not far away with their headlights flashing through the darkness. All things considered, Paul couldn't have asked for a more romantic setting. All he needed now was the courage to take the next step.

Paul drew in a deep breath and gestured towards a nearby bench. They sat down side by side, close but not quite touching, as they gazed across the water, watching the lights dancing hypnotically across the surface.

"Daniel," he began, then paused, suddenly terribly unsure of himself. It had all been so clear in his mind the night before as he lay on his bed playing the scene out in his mind, trying out different variants of the speech. It shouldn't be this hard, really. It wasn't as if this was a matter of life or death or national security. Actually, it was a very simple thing. All he had to do was tell Daniel he was crazy about him and he wanted more than friendship from him, but somehow the words eluded him. Of course, it wasn't the proposition itself that was frightening, it was Daniel's response to it. Questions kept racing through his mind: Was it too soon? Was he asking too much? Was Daniel even interested in men, or in him for that matter? 

He hadn't been this nervous since he was fifteen years old and had been engaged in some serious necking with his first real girlfriend, Lanie Hirschfield. He remembered sitting with her on the sofa in the dimly lit living room one night when her parents were out. He'd been so awkward then, as he struggled heroically then unhook her bra while trying to retain a semblance of cool. In the end, she'd smiled at him and removed it herself and things had gone on smoothly from there. 

This wasn't really different, he told himself. Yes, the stakes were a bit higher and this time around he was after more than a hormone driven grope, but they were also adults. And Daniel, well Daniel was nothing if not considerate. If he wasn't interested, he'd be gracious about it. Paul's greatest fear was of losing Daniel's friendship, of sacrificing the hard won trust in his quest for something more intimate and blatantly physical. There were always risks, no matter what, and if something was truly worth having, than it was also worth taking a chance. Bolstered by that thought he drew another deep breath and took one of Daniel's hands in his.

Daniel raised an eyebrow in response, but said nothing, just waiting patiently for Paul to begin again.

"Daniel, I've genuinely enjoyed having the opportunity to get to know you during the two years I've been associated with the SGC. Even though we live pretty much on opposite sides of the country, I feel like we've really gotten close over the last few months, despite all the obstacles of distance and the craziness of our lives and our work. I want you to know how much I treasure your friendship." 

Daniel nodded in understanding. Paul continued.

"I've never really known anyone quite like you, but then again, I've come to the conclusion that there really isn't anyone else like you out there. You are an exceptional man, Daniel Jackson. Intelligent, intuitive, resourceful. You're warm and generous and compassionate and I count myself lucky to be considered your friend."

He looked at Daniel intently, trying to gauge his response thus far. Daniel seemed calm, accepting and he briefly tightened his grip on Paul's hand, encouraging him to go on. Paul flashed him a quick smile before drawing another deep breath to prepare himself for what he planned to say next.

"But as wonderful as I find your friendship to be, lately I've been finding myself wanting more than that. I don't just want you in my life, Daniel. I want you in my bed."

He hurried on before he could lose his nerve completely. "I know you've been hurt before. Badly." There was no need for him to say the name. "And it tears me up inside to think that anyone could hurt you that way, that anyone who knows you could fail to see your worth and would ever willingly give you up. I can't do anything about the past and there is nothing I can do or say that will simply make that pain go away. All I can give you is myself."

Paul reached up, gently cupping Daniel's cheek with his free hand.

"I don't want to pressure you, Daniel. This is your decision to make, not mine, and I'll abide by it. I just want you to know that my feelings are true and that no matter what, I do care about you, more than I've cared about anyone in a long time, and nothing could possibly change that."

Paul held his breath, waiting for Daniel's answer. The other man bowed his head, his face lost in shadow. The world was eerily silent, with only the sound of the soft breeze rustling through the trees and the low throbbing hum of moving cars in the distance. With each passing moment, his heart pounded more loudly in his chest and the breath seemed to freeze just a little bit more in his lungs. A terrible fear began to creep inside and he realized that he had made a mistake, a terrible mistake.

"Paul," Daniel's voice sounded softly. "I think its time to go back to the hotel." 

Daniel had raised his head, but he didn't look directly into Paul's eyes, but that was alright because Paul doubted he could have held the contact himself. He nodded his head numbly then rose, Daniel standing up beside him.

The walk back to the car and the subsequent drive to the hotel had taken place in complete silence. There really wasn't anything to say. Paul had taken his shot, he'd put his heart on his sleeve and Daniel had declined. He'd said that the decision was Daniel's and he was determined to stand by that promise. 

Still, he kicked himself mentally, all the way to the hotel. 'It was too soon,' a voice inside his head accused. 'You pushed too hard, too fast. He's still not over O'Neill and here you are taking advantage of him when he's vulnerable.'

He gazed over at the subject of his musings. Daniel sat slumped slightly in the passenger seat, his eyes closed. He didn't seem inclined to speak and Paul certainly wasn't going to force him. He only hoped that he hadn't lost Daniel's friendship due to his rash actions. Every word he's said had been true. He did care about Daniel, a great deal, and that wasn't going to change. He only wished he knew how he was going to get through the meetings tomorrow, seeing Daniel seated across the table, knowing that he might have lost this extraordinary man forever.

Paul turned the steering wheel sharply to the left, turning the car and pulling it up to the curb in front of the lobby entrance. They sat there, the motor humming and Daniel looked Paul in the eye for the first time since his ill-timed declaration of affection. He smiled, a soft, hesitant twitch of the lips, before flicking his tongue out in what Paul now recognized as a nervous gesture.

"Would you like to come up to my room for a nightcap?" he asked, his voice amazingly calm.

Paul stared at him, hardly daring to believe the words he was hearing. Daniel was inviting him up to his room. To his bedroom. For a drink, at nearly one in the morning. And suddenly Paul's heart began to beat once more.

"Are you sure?" he asked, adopting the same level tone but pouring every ounce of feeling into his gaze.

"Yes. I'm sure," was Daniel's simple response.

Paul pulled the car away from the curb and drove to the parking lot where he could leave his car-he hoped--for the remainder of the night.

He could feel his anticipation rise as the lights on elevator control panel flashed one by one, marking their ascent. Their journey from the parking lot to the lobby had been carried out in silence, with each of them flicking quick, nervous glances when he believed the other wasn't looking. Now that the decision had been made, words seemed superfluous. They stood in opposite corners of the elevator cab and had anyone else entered and seen them thus, they would have assumed them to be complete strangers, not two friends who were about take a leap of faith.

Paul stood still, letting the sensation wash over him. The thrill of anticipation, the desire, the aching tenderness that this man elicited in him. It was like Lanie Hirschfield on her parents' sofa, or Cindy Mortenson beneath the bleachers, or Kevin Thompson, his roommate his sophomore year at the Academy. No, it was like all of them combined and more. Daniel was someone he's wanted for so long, had admired, lusted after but despaired of ever getting. So much had stood between them and now the path was clear and the future and all its possibilities were spread out before his mind's eye. He was breathless, dizzy with the very thought of it all.

The elevator chimed and the door slid open with a whisper of sound. Daniel stepped out and Paul followed, moving so that he could walk beside him, matching him stride for impatient stride. When the reached the door, Daniel withdrew his keycard and made to slide it through the slot. Paul saw the slight tremor in his hand, the nervousness that echoed his own. With infinite gentleness, Paul placed his hand over Daniel's, steadying it then pulling it downward. The light beneath turned green and he heard the soft 'snick' of the lock unclicking. Still holding Daniel's hand, he reached out with the other and turned the handle, opening the door and ushering them inside. The door closed behind them with a small thud.

They stood there in the hushed silence of the hotel room, Daniel's hand still clasped in his own. A sliver of moonlight filtered through the parted drapes, casting the room in shades of silver and gray. Paul looked into the other man's eyes, holding his gaze as he lifted Daniel's hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss to the soft skin. He could feel Daniel shiver in response, the tremor transferring to his own body through their clasped hands. His eyes never leaving Daniel's face he asked in his most seductive voice, "I believe you offered me a drink, Dr. Jackson?" 

Daniel smiled at him then, a shy, hesitant, and achingly beautiful smile that made Paul's heart turn over in his chest. "Is Scotch alright, Major Davis?"

"Perfect, Dr. Jackson. Absolutely perfect."

* * *

The night had been painfully long and empty in a way Jack hadn't experienced since those early months of his separation and subsequent divorce from Sarah. He'd spent hours slouched on the sofa in the well appointed hotel suite, restlessly flipping channels of the TV and occasionally picking at the meal he'd ordered from room service. Somewhere along the way, he'd begun to work his way through the contents of the minibar in search of blissful alcohol induced oblivion. Eventually the alcohol did its work, combining with the stress and exhaustion of the trip and a day of endless meetings, allowing him at last to slide into a fitful doze.

Jack awoke with a start, momentarily disoriented as to where he was. His eyes flickered around the room, taking in the colorful images on the television screen and the dimly lit interior of the hotel room. Rolling his neck to ease a residual cramp caused by his awkward sleeping position, he rummaged around the sofa cushions until he found the errant remote. With a jab of his thumb, he turned off the television set, plunging the room into an eerie and unsettling quietude. He glanced down at his watch. It was little after one in the morning. He scrubbed his hands over his weary face, his mind still muddled from his uneasy slumber, his mouth dry with the sour aftertaste of hard liquor. 

Just as he began to maneuver his leaden and uncooperative body from the sofa cushions, he heard a sound, slightly muffled, but audible in the heavy silence surrounding him. It was the sound of a door opening. For a second he was disoriented again, as he cast his glance to the door, expecting it to swing open. No, not his door, the door to the next room over. Daniel's room.

The muzziness from the alcohol and recent sleep seemed to fall away all at once with that realization. Daniel was just coming home. At one in the morning. He and Davis had left for dinner a bit after 1900, which meant they had been gone for five hours. What had they been doing all that time? Had they lingered over coffee at the restaurant? Had they sat in the bar in the hotel lobby sipping brandy and swapping stories about their own experiences with the SGC? Or maybe Davis had taken him on a tour of the sights? DC could be pretty spectacular after dark he seemed to recall. Yes, that is something that would appeal to Daniel, a nighttime tour of the grandeur of the nation's capitol. He could almost see Daniel gazing out the car window at the Lincoln Memorial and the Jefferson Memorial bathed in soft golden light as Davis drove his car past the Tidal Basin chatting about the recent restoration of the Washington Monument and regretting that it was summer and that the Cherry Blossoms were no longer in bloom. Yes, and then after the tour, Davis had brought him back to the hotel and said goodnight and returned to his house in...where did he say? That's right Georgetown. Davis said he lived in Georgetown, just off M street. And now Davis was driving home and Daniel was going to bed...

Voices. He could hear voices from Daniel's room. They were faint, barely discernible, but to Jack they seemed to burn through his eardrums like acid. Daniel wasn't alone. Davis hadn't dropped him off and then returned home. Davis was here, now, next door. With Daniel.

Jack could hear other sounds now floating in from the adjacent room. Footfalls moving across the plush carpet, the sound of a door opening and closing again. A tinkling sound of ice cubes dropped in a glass. A pause, another tinkling sound this one of two glasses clinked together in salute. A drink, that's all it was. Daniel had offered Davis a nightcap. Of course! How could he forget? DC was surprisingly provincial for a major metropolis. People were workaholics here, they tended to work late and go to bed early to do the same thing the next day. The hotel bar was probably closed and Daniel, being so darned gracious had offered Davis a drink in his room. Perfectly reasonable. Perfectly harmless.

Did he hear the tinkling sound of ice cubes again? No, that couldn't be right. Daniel didn't drink much but when he did, he liked Scotch, neat. So only one set of ice cubes for Major Davis who takes his Scotch on the rocks and a Scotch neat for Dr. Jackson.

He could hear the voices again. He couldn't make out the words, not really, but he could easily discern Daniel's voice. After five years, he knew the particular cadence of Daniel's voice, the slight lilt, the way he raised it at the end of his sentences, making them sound almost, but not quite like questions. In contrast, Davis' voice was almost like white noise, a baritone buzzing underlying Daniel's part of the conversation, making Jack even more acutely aware of Daniel's presence, of his participation in the conversation. He strained his ears, trying to hear more, to make distinguish the individual words. He was sure he heard Daniel say 'Paul,' at least twice, and he thought he heard 'of course,' and perhaps 'other time,' but he couldn't be sure. He couldn't be sure of anything except that Daniel was in the bedroom next door, alone with Major Davis at one in the morning and why wasn't he leaving and going home for fuck's sake?!

More murmurs and soft whispers floating from the other side of the wall. He heard a laugh, deep and rich. Not Daniel then, Davis. Daniel didn't laugh like that, such a vibrant, throaty sound was completely out of character for the normally solemn archeologist. Another laugh, this one softer, almost a snort, as if the sound had been surprised out of an unsuspecting soul. Yes, that was Daniel's laugh, he knew it well, though he hadn't heard it in a long time. Such a long time. A pang of regret shot through him then. When had he last given Daniel a reason to laugh, made him feel secure enough in his presence to let his guard down and share a moment of warmth, of mirth? Jack realized he couldn't even remember, but it had been some time ago, many, many months, and the pang became a sharp, quelling ache in his gut.

With a start, Jack suddenly became aware that he was standing perhaps a foot from the wall separating the two rooms, though he couldn't remember getting up and moving. But he obviously had, hadn't he? Standing this close, the sounds were clearer he could almost hear snippets of the conversation. 'Daniel, you must...always have...' Davis, then. 'Yes...hardly ever...but then again...' Daniel. The voices lowered, then stopped and for one brief moment, Jack feared they had somehow become aware that their privacy had been breached, that even now an interloper was spying upon them. But then Jack dismissed the idea as the foolishness it clearly was. They couldn't know he was there, awake and listening in as avidly as a neighborhood gossip on the prowl for fresh scandal. And then a terrible realization struck: they were no longer talking because their mouths were otherwise engaged. Jack's heart began to pound in his chest so loudly it seemed to drown out all sound emanating from the other room, so loudly he was sure the other men could hear it as plainly as he could. He strained his ears once more, wanting, needing to hear what was happening next door, to gain some reassurance that he was jumping to conclusions here, that they had stopped talking because they were sipping their Scotch, or perhaps they had nothing to say to one another.

And then he heard it. A soft loan moan, and a breathy whispered 'Paul,' and Jack's heart stopped beating altogether. He knew that sound, remembered it vividly from their one passionate encounter, that night when they'd loved and been loved, that perfect night before it all went to hell. And now there were other sounds. Soft thuds as if of shoes being pushed off to land on the plush carpet, the creak of a mattress as weight was pressed down upon it with sudden force, the sound of a glass being knocked off the night table to land with a clink on the floor. But worst of all were the animate sounds, the moans and sighs and indistinct whispers, soft and low and terribly, achingly bittersweet. 

Now he knew. There could be no doubt. He told himself he should move away, leave them some shred of privacy now that his last hopes had been irrevocably crushed. He told himself that he should step away and stop torturing himself, but he couldn't leave now, anymore than he could before when he first heard Daniel return. Some perverse impulse for self-flagellation pulled him even closer, until his heated body lay flat against the wall, his ear pressed to the cool painted plaster. The wall itself had ceased to be a barrier and had instead become an amplifier. Every sound was suddenly heightened, honed to a sharpness that could slash through flesh and bone. And God it was too much. He could hear the sounds and his mind mocked him further by comparing each and every one of those sounds with the ones lodged in his own memory from his night with Daniel. Each sound catalogued with a completeness and clarity that would have made any archivist proud. 

And with those familiar sounds his treacherous mind provided the accompanying images as well. In his mind's eye, he could see Daniel laid out on the bed as fingers moved slowly down his chest. Visual memory was joined by sensory memory as Jack recalled how warm and silken Daniel's skin had been to the touch, how despite appearing completely smooth, his questing fingers had encountered soft fine hairs, so fair as to be almost invisible to the eye. He could see Daniel now gazing up with wondering eyes, dark and hazy with growing desire, a soft, shy smile creasing his lips, the slender fingers as they reached out the touch Jack's face, to card gently through his hair. He could see Daniel's eyes sliding closed as he was overcome by sensation, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks like the wings of a butterfly, as his lips parted and a gasping, shuddering breath was expelled. Jack could feel the warmth of that breath heating his skin, sending tingles of want down his spine. He listened as Daniel moaned, a sound so full of need and longing it reverberated through his own body, straight down to his cock. He watched as Daniel arched his neck in invitation, offering the pale flesh to hungry lips and inquisitive tongue. He remembered the smell and taste of Daniel's skin beneath his mouth, the clean, slightly woodsy scent of his soap mingled with the salt of sweat and the musk of arousal. His lips made a path along that neck down that seemingly smooth chest, moving with a determination fired by raw hunger down to Daniel's abdomen exploring the muscles of his belly that quaked and trembled at his ministrations, before laving his navel with his tongue. He remembered that that act had elicited a startled giggle from the younger man and Jack had made a point of categorizing that fact for later experimentation.

He remembered there had been a full moon that night and that light had filtered in through the curtains, silvering Daniel's body, transforming it into living alabaster, infinitely warm and pliable. In that one moment Jack was struck by how truly beautiful Daniel was. It was an ephemeral, fugitive beauty that would evaporate with the dawn, but at that moment in time, Jack knew nothing ever had been or ever could be more beautiful than Daniel bathed in moonlight.

Daniel was spread before him, like the main course at a banquet and Jack suddenly wanted all of him. Now. Jack moved across the younger man's body, feasting upon him, tasting, touching, reveling in this newly granted liberty to take and to have. Daniel was every bit as responsive as he could have wished, as he would have imagined had he allowed himself to indulge in such thoughts before now. His moans were louder now, punctuated with breathy sighs calling his name. Jack had leaned forward and traced his tongue along the protrusion of Daniel's pelvis, causing the younger man to buck upwards. Jack placed a hand on his hip, gentle, but firm, to hold him still. He could feel Daniel trembling as he desperately tried to school his enflamed body to stillness and Jack felt an obscure sense of pride that he was doing this to Daniel, making the usually composed man lose his control. It was an amazing sight to behold, to watch as Daniel lost the battle and gave himself over completely to sensation. 

Jack blazed a trail with lips, tongue and teeth, grazing across Daniel's abdomen, down along his thighs. He was gratified to feel Daniel shift beneath him, spreading his legs to allow Jack better access. He explored the inner thighs, planting warm, wet kisses along the soft skin and Daniel bucked up once more, a plaintive moan escaping his lips. Jack moved upwards then to the rosy cock, standing at attention, hot and heavy, a bead of pre-cum poised on the tip. Jack looked down at the engorged flesh with a mix of wonder and anxiety. He had done this to Daniel, had aroused him to the point of being absolutely insensate with desire, but now that he had him there, he wasn't completely sure how to proceed. All he knew was that he needed this every bit as much as Daniel. Though he had no experience of being on the giving end of things, he had been the recipient many times. He knew what he liked, so all he needed to do was try and replicate that experience. Well, there was only one way to be sure.

Jack leaned forward and slowly drew his tongue along the length of Daniel's cock. The sensation was...interesting. The flesh was warm and velvety and it tasted of salt. The response from Daniel, however, was anything but equivocal. He groaned-loudly-and his hands fisted in the sheets, twisting the cotton in his white knuckled grip. Jack repeated the motion, this time drawing his tongue down from head to base, receiving the same enthusiastic response. He drew his tongue upwards again, this time letting it slide across the weeping tip, tasting the fluid there. Salty and slightly bitter, but not unpleasant. No, not unpleasant at all. He let his tongue delve into the slit, seeking out this new and intriguing taste. By now, Daniel was writhing and moaning almost constantly, his gasping breaths adding a staccato counterpoint. Jack took this as a ringing endorsement of his previous actions and decided to crank things up a notch. He slipped the cock into his mouth, pulling it into the warm, wet cavern. He couldn't get all of it in, of course; this was still very new and despite his enthusiasm for this new skill, Jack understood he was poised on the brink of a very steep learning curve. But he was determined to do his best. He pulled his mouth away and then slid it back down, striving to establish a rhythm that worked for both of them. Daniel's head was moving, thrashing back and forth on the pillow, and his earlier moans were joined by whimpers and desperate, gasped pleas. He heard his own name several times, intermingled with pants of 'yes,' 'more,' and 'please,' and even a 'dear God, yes.' He quickened the pace.

He knew Daniel was close now, so close to the edge. Jack, to his own astonishment, felt himself moving there as well. The sight of Daniel's surrender to pleasure was so erotic, so intoxicating that Jack realized he was about to explode himself. With one hand still pressing down on Daniel's hip he slid the other one down until it was grasped firmly around his own cock. He began to move his hand up and down, mirroring the rhythm and speed of his mouth's movement on Daniel's cock. It was good. No, better than good; it was fucking incredible. He was so close now, they both were, so he sped up the pace, needing to get there, unable to bear the fierce build up any longer. He was now as lost as Daniel. The entire world had compressed inward until nothing existed beyond the feel of his cock in his hand, the taste of Daniel within his mouth and the sound of his moans in Jack's ears. He was pure sensation, lust incarnate as the heat swelled within him. Suddenly he felt himself coming, his seed spilling hot and slippery across his hand. Even as his body began to spasm, he felt Daniel reach his own climax, his cream shooting down Jack's throat. As he tried to swallow, he heard Daniel cry out in exultation...

"Paul!"

And the taste of cum and triumph turned to bitter ash in his mouth.

Jack came back to himself to find he was no longer in the bedroom bathed in moonlight with Daniel's sweat slickened, sated body beneath him. No, he was here, in a lonely hotel room, leaning slumped against a plaster wall, his own cum sticky and rapidly cooling along his thighs and his boxers as he listened to the sound of Daniel lost in his own arousal and orgasm. An orgasm given to him by someone else. It was a sound that had been haunting Jack's dreams as memory replayed what he had had and had then carelessly, stupidly thrown away. But now that sound meant something else, meant _someone_ else. Daniel had moved on and Jack was left behind with only the bittersweet memory to keep him company.

Jack flung himself away from the wall, staggering across the room. As he passed, he flipped the light switch off and moved wearily into the chilled and empty bedroom. There could be no denying any longer: Daniel had moved on and now Jack had no choice but to do the same.

 

Chapter Five

"Daniel," he said his voice low and gentle, "Daniel, wake up."

Paul hated having to wake the sleeping man. He had refused to drift off after their lovemaking, preferring to stay awake and watch the other man sleep. Daniel looked so different in slumber, so open and vulnerable, and so achingly beautiful that his heart lurched in his chest. So he had lain here studying Daniel's face in the dim light filtering through the curtains, while his hands traced delicate patterns along the warm skin of the other man's back. He could have stayed here for the rest of the night so easily, would have given anything to be able to watch as Daniel awoke, to see his face bathed in the soft golden light of morning. But as appealing as that idea might be, it simply wasn't practical. It was in fact, quite dangerous. 

He sighed, and gave the sleeping man a gentle nudge. "Daniel!"

Responding to the whispered summons, Daniel finally opened his eyes. He blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting to the relative gloom and then he smiled, a sweet, contented smile that tempted Paul to consider throwing all thoughts of caution to the wind.

"Hi," Daniel said, his smile growing wider and a bit more playful.

"Hi yourself," he responded his own face taking on an expression he was sure could be described as doting. Then he frowned, as he remembered his reasons-his very good and very unplayful reasons-for waking Daniel in the first place. "I have to go."

Daniel frowned slightly. "Are you sure?"

Paul sighed again. "I'm afraid so. Its already past 0400 and I need to get home and changed." He gave Daniel a wry and slightly regretful grin. "It wouldn't do for me to show up at the Pentagon in a wrinkled uniform."

Now it was Daniel's turn to sigh. "I know."

"Besides," Paul continued, "I don't think Colonel O'Neill would be terribly happy if he saw me coming out of your hotel room first thing in the morning."

Daniel's expression darkened.

As soon as the words were out of his, Paul wanted to kick himself for his gross lack of tact. He had sworn to himself that he would never mention O'Neill's name in Daniel's presence. He knew how much O'Neill's callous repudiation had hurt Daniel. The pain was still so close to surface, a raw wound that could be opened with the barest of touches or a single ill chosen word. 

Paul was also keenly aware that his own motives and feelings in this matter were far from straightforward. On some level, he knew he was indebted to O'Neill. After all, were it not for the colonel's rejection, Daniel probably wouldn't be here with him now. O'Neill had literally handed Paul the thing he most coveted and which he despaired of never having, though he doubted the colonel would appreciate his gratitude. At the same time he pitied O'Neill for having neither the sense to appreciate what he had nor the balls to keep it. He also couldn't help but hate the man who had hurt Daniel so deeply. He couldn't change the past, couldn't erase the pain already inflicted, so he had promised himself he wouldn't repeat O'Neill's mistakes. He would never do anything to hurt Daniel and that included broaching the topic of Jack O'Neill. If Daniel wanted to talk about the Colonel, if he wanted to vent and rail, Paul would be there for him, encouraging and supportive and loving, all the things that O'Neill had ceased to be. And he refused to listen to the insidious voice in his head that told him his understanding had absolutely nothing to do with sensitivity towards Daniel's broken heart and everything to do with a terror caused by the memory of Jack O'Neill.

Paul knew that despite everything that had transpired, despite all the vicious, hateful words, all the scorn and heartache, Daniel still loved Jack O'Neill, and would always love him on some level. Daniel Jackson was not a man who gave his heart lightly; he guarded his feelings carefully, wrapping them in an armor of independence and professional reserve. Very few people had been allowed within the citadel of his heart and Jack O'Neill was one of the lucky ones. It was for that reason that his rejection had cut so deeply, and had become a betrayal of the highest order. Daniel had trusted, had loved O'Neill more than any other, and O'Neill had torn out his heart and left it lying on the pavement. But still, in spite of it all, Daniel simply couldn't walk away. Jack O'Neill had been his friend, his brother, his comrade-in-arms even before he'd ever been his lover. Even if they could never again be lovers, Daniel, he knew, would still try to salvage the friendship, not only for his own sake but for that of his teammates as well. Paul couldn't help but admire his loyalty and generosity of spirit, qualities that made Daniel such an extraordinary person and such an invaluable asset to the SGC. But he couldn't completely ignore that niggling fear that he would ultimately lose Daniel to O'Neill. O'Neill's presence hung like a specter between them and he honestly didn't know how to banish it, or if it was even possible. 

He looked down at the other man, willing him to see the sincerity written on his face. "I'm sorry Daniel. That was thoughtless of me."

Daniel's eyes softened as he gazed up at him. "No, its OK. You're right. Jack wouldn't be happy about this. He doesn't know about us and even if he did, I see no reason to rub it in."

'Like he did to you when he started fooling around with Carter,' Paul thought, but kept the opinion to himself.

He rubbed his thumb along Daniel's cheekbone, a small gesture of comfort. "I'll come back at 0800. We can have breakfast together and have plenty of time to get to the Pentagon by 1000."

Daniel smiled at him, a soft half smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Alright."

Paul knew he should really get going but there was one more thing he wanted to discuss before he left. "Daniel, instead of flying back to Colorado this evening, why don't you spend the weekend here in DC."

The other man looked surprised by the request and bit his lip as he considered it. He began to shake his head in negation. "Paul, I don't..."

Paul didn't give Daniel a chance to voice his objections. Raising a finger in a very Daniel like gesture he launched his offensive. "Daniel just hear me out. There is absolutely no reason why you have to return to Colorado ASAP. You yourself told me that you're not expected on base until Tuesday for a team briefing with Hammond at 1100 hours, right?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"And you're going to be in meetings pretty much all day today, which means you won't have any time to even see anything in the city..."

"That's true, but..."

"And you haven't actually visited DC in...how many years did you say?"

Daniel was lying on his back staring up at the ceiling, trying to recall how long it had been. "1992. I gave a paper at a conference hosted by the Smithsonian in '92."

"Well, that's eight years. That's a long time and there's a lot to see. Lots of museums, culture, all kinds of wonderful things."

Daniel sighed, clearly beginning to waver but trying to remain firm. "I know, but Paul..."

Paul gave him a warm smile and spoke in his silkiest, most seductive voice. "All kinds of wonderful things. There's an exhibition on Japanese folding screens of the Edo period at the Sackler, and a Motherwell exhibition at the Hirshhorn. And of course the Jasper Johns _and_ the Dutch landscape shows at the National Gallery..."

He looked at Daniel who was definitely tottering on the brink. "And let's not forget the exhibition of Native American textiles at the Museum of American History. Oh and the Washington Symphony Orchestra is in town. They're doing an all French program on Saturday night: Berlioz, Debussy, Saint-Saens. I know how much you like Debussy...'La Mer'..." he taunted in a soft silken voice.

He was watching Daniel carefully now, knowing that he could still go either way. Daniel gave him what was clearly intended to be a baleful glare but the warmth in his eyes undermined its effectiveness.

"Have you been moonlighting at the Office of Tourism?" Daniel asked a bit tartly.

"No, just did a little homework to see what kind of enticements I could offer a brilliant archeologist to tempt him into staying a little longer." 'With me,' he added silently.

Paul breathed in relief when he saw the acquiescence in Daniel's expression. "Well, I'd say that's one hell of a list of enticements. And you didn't even include the best one." Daniel offered, his voice now husky.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he leaned closer to the now smiling man. "And what would that be?"

"Mount Vernon!" Daniel answered triumphantly.

Paul couldn't help it. He laughed, his chuckle filling the room and sparking an answering wave of mirth from his companion.

"You do know I was teasing about the other reason for staying, don't you?" Daniel asked once he got his laughter under control.

"Yes, I know," he answered, leaning over once more to trail his knuckles down Daniel's cheek. "So it's settled? You'll stay the weekend and fly back to Colorado Springs on Monday?" He was surprised at how casual his voice sounded in his own ears, reflecting none of the nervousness he was feeling.

Daniel smiled at him, a sweet, winsome smile that made all the blood in his brain want to rush southward. "Yes. I'll stay."

Paul smiled back, no longer able to hide his relief. "Perfect. I'll have someone at my office take care of all the arrangements." He ran his thumb across Daniel's lips before kissing him slowly and oh so softly. They held the kiss for several heartbeats, before Paul grudgingly pulled away. "I hate to leave."

"I know," Daniel said and Paul knew it was true.

"I'll be back in a few hours for breakfast."

"I'll be here."

Paul gave him one last quick kiss before pulling himself off the bed, slipping on his shoes and grabbing his jacket. He paused for a moment to drink in the sight of Daniel sprawled across the bed, the pale, rumpled sheet bunched around his waist, his gaze burning into his own even through the darkness of the room. Then he slipped into the hallway, closing the door, and the previous night, behind him.

* * *

Jack smoothed the front of his uniform one last time, before raising his hand and rapping sharply on the door. He had had a lot of time to think the night before. Nothing but time. After the encounter he'd overheard the previous night, he'd lain awake, tossing and turning, trying desperately to erase the echo of voices and aching, unwanted memories, but to no avail. For hours his treacherous mind had assaulted him with images of Daniel, not just the erotic reminiscences of their one brief night together, but other less intimate but no less cherished memories drawn from four years of friendship. Finally as dawn began to break, Jack had come to a realization: he needed Daniel. Obvious really, something he'd known all along but had never openly acknowledged in so many words. He needed Daniel, needed him in his life, even if he could never again have him in his bed, no matter how much he might wish it. He had been a total shit to Daniel for months now, pushing him away, scorning him, hurting him. It was no way to treat a friend and Daniel was, or at least always had been, his friend.

So he'd made some decisions. He would do everything in his power to restore the friendship that he had ravaged so completely in recent months. He would treat Daniel with the respect and dignity he deserved, and hopefully win back the trust that his thoughtless actions had destroyed. Daniel had an extraordinary capacity for forgiveness, something that he had taken advantage of all too often in the past. He could only hope that this time the damage was not irreparable. And if he could regain Daniel's friendship then maybe, just maybe, he could win back his love as well.

He knocked again, wondering if maybe Daniel had overslept, or even slept at all. 'Stop it!' he commanded himself sternly. 'It's none of your business. When you dumped him, you lost all rights to judge him or his actions.' Still, knowing this and being able to think and act accordingly was not exactly easy. The knowledge that he had all but gift wrapped Daniel and handed him to Davis on a silver platter ate through his gut like acid. His fault, his screw up. It was his fucking denial had led to this. 

He heard footsteps padding softly across the carpet towards the door and a muffled voice calling 'Coming!' before the door swung open. Daniel stood in the open doorway mostly dressed, his gray dress shirt open at the throat and his tie hanging loose beneath his collar. He had obviously just showered, since his hair was damp and standing up in little spikes on the top of his head. 

"Oh! Hi Jack!" Daniel seemed surprised and maybe a tad disappointed to see him standing there. Jack ruthlessly pushed down a wave of resentment at the realization that Daniel had expected someone else. Instead, he plastered on his warmest smile offering Daniel his cheeriest good morning.

"Morning Daniel! Sleep well?" Inwardly he cringed. 'Dammit! Stop it! You are not going to bring that up!'

Fortunately, Daniel didn't catch the implications of Jack's normally casual comment. "Sure. How 'bout you?"

"Like a baby," he answered, the lie tasting sour in his mouth. "Wanted to see if you wanted to grab some breakfast before we have to head off to the Pentagon."

"Oh. Well, I promised to have breakfast with Major Davis this morning. He had some questions about my proposal for expanding the SGC's anthropology department and the best way to go about recruiting some new specialists."

Jack couldn't decide if he was annoyed or relieved by Daniel's response. Ever since Daniel had opened the door, he'd found his eyes surreptitiously scanning the room, looking for signs that Davis was there. 'No, of course not. He's clever, too clever to get caught in bed with another man, especially Daniel.' 

Seeing Jack's expression harden ever so slightly, Daniel spoke quickly. "You're free to join us if you like."

"Sure, why not?" he responded in his laziest drawl.

"He said he'd drop by at eight. Why don't you come in and sit down, while I finish dressing?"

"Sure," he repeated as Daniel went back into the bathroom. Jack moved around the room slowly before plopping down in the chair farthest from the adjoining bedroom as possible. 'The scene of the crime,' his mind whispered.

Long minutes passed, an awkward silence settling across the room until Jack could no longer stand it. "So, how was your dinner last night?" 'You're making conversation, that's all, nothing inappropriate here, just simple curiosity.' 

"Ah, good," Daniel's voice floated in from the bathroom.

"So, ah, how was that French place?" 

Jack felt like he was walking in mine field; every comment, every casual observation was somehow fraught with meaning. No matter what he said or did, everything seemed to lead his mind back to a clandestine romantic encounter that Jack should never have known about, let alone spied upon.

Daniel came back into the living area, his tie knotted, his hair now neatly combed. "Well, we didn't go there in the end. Went to the Tabard Inn instead. They have a lovely terrace out back and it was such a pleasant night, Paul thought it would be nice to eat outside."

"Paul?" Jack asked, his voice sharper than he intended.

Daniel's eyes narrowed and his lips tightened into a frown at Jack's obvious disapproval.

'Shit! Shit! You are a fucking moron O'Neill. Why can't you ever keep your fucking mouth shut!'

Daniel's voice was cool as he answered, "Well it is his name. We've known each other for two years, I see no reason why we can't be on a first name basis."

'Way to go O'Neill. You were supposed to be rebuilding your friendship here, not pushing him away again.' "No, of course not. You're a civilian, after all, no reason for you to stand on military protocol unless you feel like it."

"Exactly. After all, I've been calling you Jack for years. Unless you'd prefer 'Colonel O'Neill'?"

Jack looked at the other man. Daniel's expression was closed off, neutral. He hated when Daniel got like this. He could usually read Daniel like a book but there were times like this when his expression became shuttered and Daniel was as distant and as unknowable as the Sphinx. There was something in his tone, a hint, an inflection of something, but it could have been anything from censure to wry amusement. Jack decided to play it casual.

"Nah, got enough people callin' me 'Colonel' and 'sir.' I've always kinda liked the fact that you called me 'Jack.' There aren't that many people in my life that do."

Daniel's eyes narrowed slightly. He was clearly unsure of whether or not to take the remark at face value, wondering if Jack was making some kind of joke at his expense.

Jack sighed inwardly. 'God, how did it come to this? Can't say a damn thing without screwing it up or making Daniel think I'm jerking him around. When had it gotten so complicated?' He took a deep breath and continued. "Truth is, I don't have a whole lot of friends, at least not ones I can share stuff with. I can't afford to lose the ones I have."

Jack looked at Daniel, watching as the other man studied him, assessing, weighing his words, sifting through them looking for the truth. 

"No," Daniel answered slowly, "I guess not."

The response was non-committal but at least it wasn't a brush off. Jack breathed a little easier, until Daniel's next words stole his breath completely.

"I've decided to stay and spend the weekend here in DC."

Jack felt as if he'd been gut punched. Daniel continued, apparently oblivious to the other man's distress. "I haven't been to DC in ages and, well, Colorado Springs is nice and all, but lets face it, its not exactly a cultural hotbed. And there's so much going on here; there's at least a dozen exhibitions up right now and none of them will ever make it to Denver, not that I'd have the time to see them even if they did. And since we don't need to be back on base until Tuesday morning, it would just be a shame not take advantage of an opportunity like this."

Daniel's voice was like a buzzing in his ears. Jack hadn't caught the specific words, only the general meaning. 'Daniel wants to stay in DC. Daniel wants to stay in DC with him, with Davis.' He wanted to object, but no words came to mind; he wanted to refuse, but he understood that this wasn't a request, Daniel wasn't asking for his permission. Daniel was a grown man, he had every right to make his own decisions, whether Jack approved or not. He didn't want Daniel to stay, but he knew that any attempt to stop him would simply widen the rift between them. He felt the bile rising up in his throat and he responded the only way possible.

"Sure. No reason not to."

Daniel looked at him, faintly surprised, as if he had fully expected Jack to protest. He seemed relieved by Jack's acquiescence and his gut clenched tighter at the realization that Daniel had expected a fight. Well and why the hell not? Of late, everything had become a battle of wills between them, with Jack treating Daniel like a willful child any time he opened his mouth. Daniel had every reason to expect Jack to raise a stink if for no other reason than to thwart Daniel. Jack drew in another deep breath. 'Christ, what a mess.'

Jack was spared further comment by a knock on the door. Casting a look of gratitude Jack's way, Daniel crossed the room and opened the door to admit Major Davis. He glanced down at his watch. 0800 sharp. 'Punctual as always. Bastard.' Jack couldn't help but derive at least a modicum of pleasure when he saw Davis' face fall ever so slightly at the sight of him. Ever the politician, he covered it up quickly before Daniel ever saw it, but in that brief moment, the masks had fallen away understanding passed between the two men. They might both be officers in the USAF, but they were also rivals, adversaries squaring off on the field of battle. The words were never spoken, never would be spoken, but they hung in the air between them. 'I hate you.' Thankfully Daniel remained oblivious to the simmering hostility between the two men.

Davis offered a bright smile though Jack knew it wasn't for his benefit. "Dr. Jackson, Colonel O'Neill."

"Good morning Paul," Daniel said, beaming at the other man.

"Major," Jack replied, ignoring the way his gut twisted at Daniel's obvious delight at the other man's presence.

"Jack'll be joining us for breakfast. Hope you don't mind." It was a statement, but Jack could here the underlying inquiry.

Davis was all warm smiles and warmer demeanor. "No, not at all. It's always a pleasure. Did you sleep well, sir?" the last was aimed at him.

"Peachy. How 'bout you?" He couldn't help himself.

"Very well, sir. Thank you."

"Well, we'd better mosey on downstairs and get Daniel started on his caffeine drip. A caffeine deprived Daniel is not a pretty sight"

"Jack," Daniel grouched, drawing the name out in fond exasperation. It had been a long time since he'd said his name like that and Jack took it as a positive sign.

"Well, I certainly don't want to stand between an archeologist and his coffee," Davis replied. "Shall we?" he asked, sweeping his arm towards the still open door. Daniel breezed past and Jack followed, offering the major a grin edged with a dagger's point. Davis' smiled faltered for a heartbeat.

'Yes, I see we understand each other perfectly,' Jack thought as he followed Daniel towards the elevator. The battle was now fully joined.

* * *

The day had been interminable, the minutes dragging on with painful slowness. Jack began to wonder if he had slipped into a different time zone, that unlike the rest of DC which operated on Eastern Standard Time, the Pentagon was operating on Torturous Standard Time. The day had started out crappy with his awkward conversation with Daniel and other man's announcement of his intention to stay in DC coming on top of a sleepless night. Then breakfast with Daniel and 'Paul' who had shared fond glances and sly smiles over coffee and fluffy fucking croissants as if he, Jack O'Neill, wasn't even present. And then, as if that wasn't bad enough, he got to spend the rest of the day closeted with a bunch of pencil pushers and desk jockeys as he tried to explain for the hundredth time why the Goa'uld were bad guys. Christ, what had he done to deserve this?

Of course, he knew the answer, at least to part of it. 'You screwed your best friend then you screwed him over. And now he's moved on. And its all your fault.' He sighed again, trying, but once more failing, to focus on the matter being discussed. The problem was, he couldn't. His mind kept going back to the darkened hotel room and the sounds of passion emanating from the other side of the wall. And when he wasn't hearing those sounds he was seeing Daniel's face as he patiently explained to Jack his reasons for the decision to stay in DC, without ever mentioning reason number one, that he wanted to stay and spend the weekend with his lover. But Daniel wouldn't say that, would he? Unlike Jack O'Neill, Daniel Jackson was thoughtful and considerate, taking into account other people's feelings. He would never hurt Jack, never flay him with harsh words or scorn him publicly or just turn and walk away. No, that was Jack's department. And lookee, what a great team we make. We even have a neat division of labor when it comes to wrecking our friendship. I twist the knife, he bleeds. Except that wasn't entirely true because right now Jack could feel the blood oozing slowly from the open wound; he could smell the sweet, metallic scent. It may have taken longer, but he was the one doing all the bleeding now. Fuck.

He flicked a glance done at his watch. 1506. Another hour until the meetings were over. He was hoping he would get a chance to see Daniel before he had to go and catch his flight out of National. He hadn't seen him or Davis--small mercy there-since breakfast. Apparently Daniel's meetings today were running on a different schedule than his so there had been no sign of him at lunch. 

God, but he hated the distance that stood between them. He had hoped that this trip to DC, just the two of them, might give them a chance to set things right, but instead all it had done was push Daniel into another man's arms. And now Daniel was going to be here, alone with Davis for two, no three, whole days and there was nothing he could do about it. Hell, he'd seen the way Davis had been eyeing Danny up over breakfast. Museums, his ass. They'd probably spend the entire time in the bedroom. The only art they'd be looking at would be artistically arranged wet spots.

Jack closed his eyes, trying to get control of himself and his emotions. This wasn't helping. This trip was a washout, he'd accepted that. The coming weekend, well, it was Daniel's decision and anything he might say or do to the contrary would just make matters worse. Right now the best he could do was focus on the future, on Tuesday when they were both back at the SGC in Colorado Springs, a healthy two time zones away from the annoyingly smooth Major Davis. Once he had Daniel back home where he belonged, he'd make it all up to him. Daniel would find out what it really meant to loved and wanted. And that was a promise Jack fully intended to keep. 

With the decision forged in his mind, Jack turned his attention to the endless droning of the Pentagon policy wonks.

* * *

Daniel worked his towards the reception desk, barely dodging a woman wheeling an oversized suitcase behind her and carrying several brightly colored shopping bags with the words "Saks Jandel" emblazoned on them.

It was now almost half past five. After a flurry of meetings with Pentagon types explaining the importance of the "meaning of life stuff" and then badgering, wheedling and cajoling anyone he could to get more resources to help pursue that goal, Daniel was exhausted and wired all at once. All in all, he considered it time well spent. He seemed to have actually made some headway with some of the Washington bean counters and sycophants, but Daniel had had enough experience with grant boards in his student days to know that a positive meeting didn't always yield the tangible results you were hoping for.

When the last meeting had finished, Paul had driven him back to the hotel so he could freshen up and change before dinner. Daniel flashed a quick glance over his shoulder to see the other man seated in an overstuffed chair at the far side of the lobby awaiting his return. 'Probably best not to tempt fate,' Paul had explained. 'If I get you anywhere in the proximity of your bed, I won't be held responsible for my actions.'

Daniel had laughed, deeply flattered at Paul's appraisal of his allure, knowing it went both ways. 'Well, we have three days to test the waters, see how deep this really goes.' Daniel refused to let himself think of anything beyond those three days. Time enough for that later.

Upon reaching the reception desk, he asked if there were any messages for him. It was force of habit; he wasn't really expecting anything since the only people who knew he was in DC were General Hammond and some assorted personnel at the SGC. Should any of them need to get hold of him, they would simply have contacted the Pentagon directly. So it came as a surprise when the fresh faced young woman behind the desk gave him an envelope, smiling pleasantly as she wished him a good evening.

Daniel frowned slightly, turning it over in his hands before thanking her and moving over to the nearby bank of elevators. It wasn't until he was ensconced in the elevator car that Daniel took a good look at the object in his hands. The envelope was cream colored and delicately textured with the hotel's emblem elegantly inscribed in red in the upper left hand corner. Daniel slid his thumb beneath the flap, cracking the adhesive and pulling out the sheet of paper within. He unfolded it, his eyes scanning the brief, hand scrawled message:

Hey Danny,

Have a good weekend. See you on Tuesday.

Jack

That was all. A salutation, a brief message, and a signature. Less that a dozen words. Well, what else was necessary? It wasn't as if Jack was exactly effusive at the best of times and Daniel would hardly categorize their recent relationship as the best of times. Not by a long shot.

The elevator door opened and Daniel exited, walking to his hotel room with his mind still preoccupied with current events. Things had been tense between he and Jack the entire three days they had been here together in Washington. No surprise there, Jack had barely spoken a civil word to him in months. He had avoided Daniel for the most part and on the occasions when that wasn't possible, he had simply tolerated his presence. Well, in between the sniping, and the criticism and the general ill-tempered behavior. In truth it wasn't all that much of a hardship for Daniel to return the favor and give Jack a wide berth. Daniel might be a lot of things, but a masochist wasn't one of them. He had neither the desire nor the intention to play Jack's whipping boy. If Jack wanted to be an asshole, well nothing said Daniel had to simply stand there and take it. If and when Jack was ready to start behaving like a mature, rational adult, Daniel would be ready to talk to him, but until Jack got his act together, Daniel would simply stay away. 

He sighed. Tensions were already pretty high on the team and the stresses and strains caused by the rift between he and Jack were becoming increasing apparent and Daniel hated that most of all. His team, his family was being torn apart by this. If he and Jack couldn't find a way to resolve this conflict and soon, then SG-1 was finished. Not for the first time Daniel wondered if he shouldn't just ask to be reassigned, but he knew that wasn't much of a solution. General Hammond would demand his reasons for leaving the flagship team, reasons Daniel couldn't give without causing further harm and conflict, nor would it be fair to Sam and Teal'c. And, if he was being honest, it wasn't fair to him, either. He had done nothing wrong, dammit. He loved Jack, he always had, but he had never spoken of it, never done anything that might make Jack uncomfortable. It was Jack who had crossed that boundary, Jack who had taken action and said the words and Daniel had responded, openly and honestly. He had no reason to feel guilty or be ashamed but that was cold comfort when his world was being ripped apart in the aftermath.

Daniel swiped the keycard through the lock and stepped into his hotel room. His khaki trousers and white button down shirt had been pressed and cleaned per his request and were now hanging in the closet. He had already loosened and removed his tie on his way to the room and now he quickly shucked out of his suit, hanging the jacket, trousers and shirt in the closet should he need to wear them again in a pinch. Dressed only in a tee shirt and boxers, he moved to the bathroom to splash some water on his face and brush his teeth, wishing he had time enough for a quick shower but knowing he didn't. 

He looked at his reflection, running his hand along his jaw, feeling the faint prickle of stubble and decided he had time enough for a quick shave. As he drew his razor across and down his cheek, his thoughts turned once more to the events of that morning. When Jack had shown up on his doorstep, he had been surprisingly...warm, so much like his old self, the way he had been before their disastrous one night stand. No snide remarks, no coolness, nothing that even hinted at the tension that had marked all their interactions of late. Daniel had found himself being drawn to Jack, even as he felt a sudden wariness. Why was Jack being so friendly all of a sudden? Why this unexpected change of heart? 

Daniel had tried to accept it as a conciliatory gesture but he couldn't stop looking for some hidden meaning, some trick and for the first time he was forced to confront the fact that Jack wasn't the only one who had been changed by the fallout from that night. There was a time not that long ago when he had trusted Jack implicitly, but now that trust had been shattered and he was only beginning to understand just what a long way they had to go just to rebuild their former friendship. He wanted to, he truly did, but he knew it was going to be damn hard.

That exchange had been nothing compared to the breakfast that followed. Jack had been a mass of thinly veiled hostility, nothing new in and of itself except this time he wasn't the target of Jack's ire. Polite and well behaved on the surface, he had spent the entire meal shooting daggers at Paul when he thought Daniel wasn't looking, while the other man was forced to retain a calm demeanor in the face of Jack's antagonism. He didn't know why Jack was behaving this way; certainly he couldn't know that he and Paul were lovers. This was a new development and they hade been discrete in all of their dealings thus far. Did Jack simply dislike the friendship that had developed between the two men? Was he going to antagonize everyone who became close to Daniel, resenting anyone who dared to usurp his former place as Daniel's friend? God, Daniel hoped not. That would render an already awkward situation completely unbearable.

He sighed again, an old habit that had become increasingly pronounced in recent months. He couldn't decide what annoyed him more, Jack treating Paul so shabbily, his attempts to hide his bad behavior in order to protect Daniel's sensitivities or his belief that Daniel of all people wouldn't catch on to what he was doing. It was all of the above, of course, but that last truly rankled. Daniel wasn't a child, he didn't need to be protected and he certainly wasn't anywhere near as nave as Jack consistently believed him to be. Clearly Jack didn't know Daniel nearly as well as he thought he did.

Shaking his head slightly to clear it from these frustrating thoughts, Daniel finished dressing. It was pointless to dwell upon such things when there wasn't anything that he could do to resolve the matter while he and Jack were on opposite ends of the country. When he returned to Colorado Springs, there would be time enough to talk with Jack and try to find a way to put an end to this frustrating situation. Until then he would not allow the unpleasantness with Jack to cast a pall over his weekend with Paul. He'd made a decision to stay with Paul and he was going to make the most of it.

Flicking off the light, he closed the door, determined to leave his doubts and worries about Jack behind him.

Chapter Six

Daniel walked around Paul's well-appointed townhouse, letting light fingers trace across the smooth surface of a shelf of one of the bookcases. Paul's home was very much a reflection of the man himself, tasteful and understated. Dark leather sofas contrasted with sleek blond wood, cream colored walls framing modern abstract paintings, a geometric sculpture of burnished copper occupying a corner. The place was impeccable, save for the subtle signs of occupation: the pile of mail on the table near the door, a magazine and an abandoned coffee mug on the coffee table, a few unwashed dishes in the sink.

The drive from the hotel to Georgetown had been a bit subdued. Paul had seemed to notice Daniel's mild distraction and didn't push for conversation. Instead he filled the space with idle chatter, pointing out local landmarks, complaining about the perpetual lack of parking which was a problem to residents and visitors to the District alike, regaling him tales of 'flying manhole covers' apparently caused by pressure in underground gas mains that had been the bane of 'M' Street recently. That had drawn a laugh out of Daniel who couldn't help but be amused and horrified in equal measure by the strange threat of attack by flying manhole covers of all things.

They had finally arrived at Paul's home off 'M' Street, one of a row of stylish townhouses along 31st Street. While Paul changed from his uniform to more casual clothes, Daniel was free to, well, snoop. He didn't like thinking in those terms, but that was what he was up to nonetheless. Intelligence gathering. 

He moved across the room to where Paul's stereo was located and began to peruse his CD collection. Jack had told him you could learn a lot about somebody by his choice of music and of course the way they arranged it. Paul's CDs were neatly slotted in a standing rack of that same pale wood, perhaps beech, and he found himself looking at the titles. Lots of classical music, everything from Brahms and Beethoven to Tchaikovsky. He found quite a few of Debussy and Faur; like Daniel Paul had a fondness for French composers of the nineteenth century. There were some more contemporary things: some jazz, Winton Marsalis, Miles Davis; a few soft rock things, James Taylor and others. All in all it was a fairly...conservative collection, certainly compared to Daniel's which was, well eclectic, was perhaps the most gracious term one could use. 

He remembered distinctly a time early in their acquaintance when Jack had visited his apartment and had put his ideas regarding intelligence gathering via CD collections into practice...

// "Daniel? What the hell is this?"

Daniel had come out of the kitchen carrying two mugs of coffee. After putting them down, he walked over to Jack so he could see what the other man was waving so vigorously in his hand.

"Oh, that's 'The Downward Spiral.' Nine Inch Nails."

"Nine Inch Nails?" Jack repeated, his voice measured.

"Yeah. Great stuff. Very intense. Trent Reznor is brilliant, an absolute genius." Daniel had explained with considerable enthusiasm.

Jack had snorted, leaving no doubt as to his opinion of Daniel's assessment. "Sorry, Daniel but yer way off base on that one."

"Oh?" Daniel had asked blandly.

"'Fraid so. Puccini, that's a genius. Elvis? You bet. Springsteen? Absolutely. But this Trent Razor..."

"Reznor." Daniel corrected.

"...guy. Nope, don't think so," Jack continued unperturbed by Daniel's interruption. 

"Have you even listened to any of his stuff?"

"Don't need to. Christ Daniel. Did you build your collection from discount bin castoffs? I mean look at this stuff. The Offspring? Soundgarden? Sonic Youth? I never heard of any of these losers."

"That's my recent music section. You haven't even looked at my classical or world music selection."

"Its still crap," Jack had explained placidly.

Daniel had rolled his eyes and cocked an eyebrow before pointedly remarking "Well, I'm not sure I should take any musical advice from a man with an ABBA CD in his collection."

"Hey! I told ya already that was one of Sarah's!"

"And yet you've kept it all this time. Surely returning it to its rightful owner would be the decent thing to do?" 

Jack glared at him. Daniel smiled sweetly right back at him.

"Shut up Daniel. And where's my coffee anyway?"

Daniel had just smiled a bit more broadly, knowing he had scored a victory off the taciturn colonel. On future visits to Jack's house he noticed that the ABBA CD had vanished from his collection without a trace //

Daniel slid the CD he had been looking at back into place, once again moving about the room, taking a measure of the man from his personal belongings. Daniel had just been admiring a lovely hand blown glass bowl when he suddenly felt Paul come up behind him, his step soft but slow so as not to startle the other man. Paul slipped his arms around Daniel's waist, pulling his body close. He dropped a soft nuzzling kiss on Daniel's nape before nipping gently on his earlobe.

"Hey," Paul whispered in his ear, his voice slightly husky. "Howya doin'?"

Daniel leaned back into the embrace, enjoying the warmth and solidity of the other man's body. "Fine," he responded. Shifting direction, he remarked "This is beautiful," drawing gentle fingers over the lip of the glass bowl.

"Thanks. I bought that in a small glassmaker's shop in Murano, oh nine, ten years ago."

"Really?" Daniel turned in his embrace to face the other man. "I was in Venice ten years ago, just for a couple of days. I was working on my doctorate in archeology then and I stopped on my way to Herculaneum and Pompeii."

"Well who knows? Maybe we passed each other in Saint Mark's Square?" Paul suggested, smiling.

"Perhaps," Daniel confirmed. "Stranger things have happened."

"So..." Paul asked, drawing out the syllable, "I thought for dinner we could go to Citronelle. I did promise you French last night, after all, and I wouldn't want to be seen as a man who breaks his word. They have incredible food and it's just a couple of blocks from here so we can walk. Unless of course, you'd prefer something else, maybe Thai? Busara is really good and they serve a great larb gai. Or maybe..."

"Paul," Daniel said interrupting him. "French sounds fine. I trust your judgment."

Paul smiled. "Good. We have a reservation for eight. Georgetown on Friday night, a reservation is pretty much a prerequisite," he explained.

Daniel nodded in understanding.

"So, we've got a little time to kill. How about a drink?"

"Sounds great. Just...no beer. I've never managed to get Jack to grasp the basic fact that I really don't like the taste of most beers, especially the domestic ones." Daniel clarified.

"Wine?"

"Perfect."

Daniel followed Paul into the small kitchen. It was every bit as elegant as the rest of the house, all marble surfaces and shiny chrome. He watched as Paul rummaged around for a corkscrew then withdrew a bottle of wine from a lower cabinet.

"It' a 1996 Catena Cabernet Sauvignon Alta. Its Argentinean," he said as he began to uncork the wine. "I think you'll like it."

Daniel nodded again.

"Could you grab a couple of glasses? Upper left hand cabinet."

Daniel did as requested, pulling out two wine goblets that he placed next to the now open bottle of wine.

Paul poured the wine then handed Daniel a glass before clinking both glasses together in toast. Daniel took an experimental sip. 

"Its very good." Daniel acknowledged.

"Thanks. It's a favorite of mine. I usually buy it by the case at Calvert Woodley and then store it in the basement. No real wine cellar, but it keeps well down there.

Daniel took another sip and nodded a third time. He had no idea what a Calvert Woodley was but he presumed it was a liquor store. If they provided wines like this, well they won Daniel's wholehearted support.

"Would you like to sit down?" Paul asked gesturing towards the living room.

"Thanks," Daniel replied before moving out of the kitchen and seating himself on the sofa. Paul took a seat next to him, close but not too close.

"So..."

"So..."

They both started simultaneously. They looked at each other and laughed. "Look," Paul offered reasonably, "there's no reason for us to feel nervous. I mean we've known each other, albeit somewhat long distance, for two years. Now we've got a whole weekend to get to know one another better. The real pressure is already off; we've already made love and it was incredible," he said smiling warmly at Daniel who smiled back. "So, lets just relax and enjoy the time we have together."

Daniel couldn't agree with him more. He put his wine glass down on the coffee table before reaching for Paul's and repeating the action. Now free of all encumbrances he leaned forward, cupping his hand around the other man's cheek. Paul took his hand, lifting it slightly to plant a kiss in his palm as Daniel leaned in to kiss him.

The kiss was slow and sensuous, a touching of lips, parting, touching again. Daniel ran his tongue along Paul's lower lip, caressing the softness without trying to part the lips themselves. Daniel cradled Paul's face in both hands as he kissed him, feeling the other man's arms snaking around his body, pulling them closer. He nipped on Paul's lower lip holding it between his teeth before finally slipping his tongue into the other man's mouth.

The kiss deepened as the two men traded off control, their tongues tangling in a delicious, ecstatic dance. Daniel felt Paul leaning in closer, his weight taking them downward. Daniel didn't resist as his body was pressed into the cushions. He felt Paul's fingers slipping into his hair even as his own arms wrapped around the other man's back and his hands began to stroke along the sinuous curve of spine. His legs slipped apart as Paul settled his weight full on top of his pliant body and he began to rock upwards in a slow, steady rhythm. He swallowed Paul's moan and moments later Paul returned the favor. It was incredible, simply incredible.

And then Paul broke off the kiss with a sudden forceful movement and a muttered curse. Daniel looked at him somewhat perplexed at the move.

"Sorry Daniel," he apologized. "Its just that I had lots of fairly romantic plans for this weekend and they didn't include doing you on the sofa in under a half hour of entering my house. Though I guess I should have know better. You are way too distracting for my own good. Though my libido thoroughly approves."

Daniel looked up at Paul's flushed and embarrassed face and couldn't help but smile. Paul wanted to woo him, show him around, maybe show him off. Daniel wanted to tell him it wasn't necessary, but he realized how important it was for the other man. Paul was obviously something of a romantic and if a bit of courtship made him more comfortable, well Daniel was willing to play along. Provided there would be sex later, of course. There were limits to his altruism here. He looked a question at Paul and Paul smiled in return.

"Why don't we go have a nice dinner, a few drinks, maybe a little walk after dinner then come back here and finish this particular...interchange."

"Sounds like a plan," Daniel replied sitting up and straightening his clothes. Paul stood and offered his hand and Daniel took it, levering his body off the sofa. Daniel would let himself be wooed. For now.

* * *

Dinner had been every bit as wonderful as Daniel had expected it to be. The restaurant was elegant, but also comfortable and laid back, offering a view into the kitchen where the white hatted chefs prepared their culinary delights. The food had been delicious, a wonderful blend of traditional French cuisine with California style and the accompanying wine had been superb. The earlier awkwardness in Paul's living room had dissipated and they now fell easily into conversation, discussing possible plans for the rest of the weekend and comparing reminiscences from their own world travels. Not surprisingly, Daniel had been to more places than Paul, but Daniel was delighted to discover how well traveled the other man was.

"A side effect of being an Air Force brat," Paul explained. "We moved a round a fair amount when I was a kid and Dad had postings in Germany and Italy as well as the U.S. I rather liked going to 'exotic places,' or what seemed to be exotic places when I was young. Obviously my definition of 'exotic' has changed considerably in recent years." 

Paul didn't need to explain that last remark any further.

"I still like to travel. I've been to Europe a half dozen times, I've even been to Japan once."

"That's one place I've never been," Daniel remarked, taking a sip of Cabernet. "I've been all over Europe, the Middle East, South America, but I've never traveled in Asia."

"You'd like it, I think. Tokyo is a bit intense, kinda the uber city, all skyscrapers and garish neon lights. Very crowded and noisy. It actually makes New York seem sedate by comparison. But Kyoto...now that's a beautiful city. Very elegant. There are temples and shrines everywhere. And Kiyomizu Temple? Absolutely breathtaking. Its up on a hillside and on a clear day you can see all of Kyoto spread out beneath you. And when the cherry blossoms are in full bloom it's just amazing."

"Sounds wonderful," Daniel agreed. "I'd love to see it sometime."

"Well, perhaps someday I could show it to you." Paul offered.

Daniel took a sip of wine to cover his sudden surprise. Paul's casual offer could have been nothing more than an offhand remark, yet given the context of this weekend, it suddenly seemed fraught with meaning and possibilities. Was Paul intimating that they should consider going away somewhere together? Surely not. It was too soon. Or was it? 

Daniel took another sip of wine and forced himself to relax. He was being silly, reading deeper meanings into everything he heard. First with Jack this morning, now with Paul. It was a casual comment, spoken in a moment of enthusiasm, nothing more. Daniel had seen the way Paul's eyes had lit up as he described the sights he'd seen in Kyoto. Daniel knew that look, understood that passion because it was one he himself experienced often. Paul was just sharing his enthusiasm, nothing more. It was nice to find that he and Paul had shared interests, that there was more between them than hormones. Sex alone, no matter how incredible, was no basis for a real relationship. Daniel wasn't sure he was looking for a long-term relationship or if he was even ready for one, but he was heartened by the knowledge that he and Paul had more in common than physical attraction. The more he got to know Paul, the better he liked him and regardless of where this was headed, that was certainly a good thing.

If Paul had noticed his momentary anxiety, he didn't comment upon it, for which Daniel was grateful. Paul was nothing if not tactful and considerate and Daniel found himself relaxing further in the face of such solicitude and the gentle buzz from exquisite wine.

The waiter came and cleared away their dinner plates and took their dessert order. As they sat over crme brule and expresso, Paul suggested an after dinner walk along 'M' Street.

"As an anthropologist, I thought you might enjoy getting a lay of the land, and seeing the indigenous population interacting in their natural habitat," he explained, his tone slightly mocking but warm. "Georgetown on a Friday night offers an unparalleled opportunity to watch the mating rituals of the North American frat boy in all its embarrassing glory."

Paul smiled, that warm smile that felt like a caress and Daniel felt a delicious shiver travel up his spine. Daniel was sorely tempted to tell Paul to hell with amateur anthropology and demand they return to Paul's house ASAP and get down to a far more interesting and intimate study of mating rituals. But much to his surprise, he found to that he liked the seduction the other man was creating. He was enjoying the flirting and the teasing and he knew the walk itself would simply be another stage of foreplay, completely innocent yet serving to heighten the tension. He could feel the anticipation rising within him and he knew that when they did get back to Paul's place, the consummation would be all the sweeter for it.

Daniel had laughed, which he was fairly sure had been the point of Paul's little foray into anthropology speak. "Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse and still consider myself a serious anthropologist?"

"Shall we?" Paul queried, his smile broadening

"Absolutely," Daniel responded, smiling in return.

Ever the gracious gentleman, Paul brushed off Daniel's offers to split the rather sizeable dinner bill. "It's my treat, Daniel. I invited you, you're my guest." Paul had accentuated that last word, leaving no doubt that what he had meant was 'my date.' "Next time I'm in your neck of the woods, you can return the favor," he offered by way of compromise.

Daniel nodded his grudging acceptance as he moved to the door. Not surprisingly, Paul arrived first and held the door open for him. Under other circumstances, Daniel might have found this courtliness a little high handed but he understood it was all part of Paul's wooing, so he simply nodded graciously as he slipped out the door.

After the relative quiet of the restaurant, the cacophony on 'M' was a bit dizzying at first. Paul hadn't been exaggerating. The streets were full of people, moving in groups and pairs while the traffic crawled along at a snail's pace as drivers desperately sought the ever elusive parking space. The crowd was relatively young, lots of college kids as Paul has predicted, but he and Paul weren't completely out of place. It was a beautiful night, the mugginess from the late afternoon tempered by a slight breeze, making the temperature more bearable. The sky was clear and bright.

As they walked past "Clyde's" one of the bustling restaurants along the main drag, Paul pointed out the site of one the 'flying manhole covers,' eliciting another chuckle from Daniel. They walked along the street engaged in conversation, weaving their way through the mass of people. Paul mourned the loss of the two art house movie theatres that used to reside in the area until they were replaced by a drugstore and an upscale yuppie hardware store. Daniel made sympathetic noises, acknowledging that Colorado Springs wasn't exactly a haven for foreign films either. 

As they moved along the crowded sidewalks, Daniel found himself pushed up against Paul quite often. He could feel his thigh slide against Paul's thigh, and feel their bare forearms brush together. More than once he felt Paul's hand gently touch the small of his back, directing him, guiding him through the crush of bodies. It was all perfectly harmless, perfectly proper and utterly arousing. Somehow these casual touches as they walked amid the oblivious crowds were every bit as intimate as the brush of lips and tongue they had shared in the privacy of Paul's house. At this very moment, Daniel wanted Paul desperately. 

He turned his head to look at his companion, his gaze smoldering, not so much asking as demanding. Paul nodded in understanding and placing his hand once again on the small of Daniel's back, he directed them back towards 31st Street and the haven of Paul's house.

No words were spoken on the brief walk back towards Paul's house and none were needed. Both men were most certainly on the same page here and Daniel could practically feel the heat coming off his companion's body, superheating the cool night air.

Paul unlocked the door and ushered Daniel inside. "Would you like something to drink?" Paul asked graciously though his voice was slightly rough with desire.

"No." Daniel growled. He'd had enough with courtesy and solicitude for one night, dammit. If Paul wanted to engage in further courtship rituals, well he'd have to wait until tomorrow because Daniel could not, would not wait any longer. With a suddenness that took both men by surprise, Daniel pushed Paul against the door, kissing him with a fury. The kiss was raw and violent, a clashing of teeth and a flurry of tongues. Paul moaned into his mouth, tilting his head to allow Daniel to explore his mouth at will, his arms reaching up to wrap around the other man's shoulders. Daniel pressed the full length of his body against Paul's grinding their hips together, his hands running along the length of the other man's torso and hips before slipping behind and cupping his ass with a steely grip.

Daniel was dizzy with need. He wanted this man, all of him, and he wanted him now. He broke off the kiss with a gasping, sobbing breath as lack of oxygen threatened. Latching his mouth on to the side of Paul's neck, he kissed and nibbled his way from ear to collarbone.

"Daniel," Paul moaned as his neck arched into the moist warmth assaulting his skin. "Daniel."

Daniel was on fire, full of craving and unquenched need. A part of his mind, the tiny corner that remained rational and detached wondered how it was that he had not yet burst into flame and been reduced to ash. He feasted on pliant flesh and growled deep in his throat. He felt hands on the side of his head, lifting his face and he found himself gazing into eyes, once green, now black with desire.

"Daniel," Paul said, his voice husky, the sound of it rasping achingly along sensitive flesh. It was a question, eloquent in its simplicity. 'What do you want?'

Already gone beyond the point of coherency, Daniel could only offer a single word. "Want."

Paul nodded, his face flushed and intense with desire. "Then take," he offered, commanded before kissing Daniel again.

The two men stumbled across the room, clinging to each other as much in need as for support. They began to tug at one another's clothes, working with more determination than coordination as the urgent need to feel bare flesh overrode all other concerns. Fumbling, hasty fingers pulled at buttons while imprecations against all clothing fasteners were muttered. Their bodies had twisted and turned in their erratic course across Paul's living room, looking for the world like a parody of a waltz, with less grace and more skin. Daniel was backing Paul towards the place he believed a leather sofa resided. For once, the fates cooperated as he pushed Paul back and the other man's shins bumped against the front of the couch before their combined weight and momentum tumbled them down unto the cushions in a sprawl of limbs.

Paul shifted his body so he was lying along the length of the sofa and Daniel moved to cover him. He kissed Paul fiercely than slid down his body, reaching for his belt buckle, tugging and pulling until it opened and his hands could move on to the button and zipper which put up only slightly less resistance. He yanked hard on the waistband of the other man's trousers, pulling pants and boxers down to his knees in one solid pull before turning his attention to his own trousers and the erection trapped within. He cursed as his hands tore uselessly at his own belt and then he felt another pair of hands, only slightly more steady, undoing the buckle, pulling the leather tongue free. He felt Paul trail one finger along the aching length of his cock, before his entire hand came to rest, covering and squeezing him, eliciting a sobbing gasp before returning to the business of removing Daniel's trousers. Once the button and zipper were undone, both pairs of hands pushed the fabric down, exposing his overheated skin to the cooler air of the air-conditioned room.

Daniel lay down again, his body flowing, melting across Paul's willing and pliant one. He felt the man beneath him shift and move spreading his legs to let Daniel settle between his parted thighs. It was an echo of their earlier encounter on the sofa, their positions now reversed. But this time, neither man was going to put a stop to it. Daniel leaned in for another dizzying, oxygen depriving kiss, feeling Paul's arms wrap around him tightly before his hands slid down to clamp upon Daniel's bare ass with nearly bruising force. Daniel's own hands slid upward, his fingers sinking into the soft, thick hair on the back of his head, using the grip to guide the kiss as he began to move his body in a dance as old as time.

He knew this wouldn't last. They were already wound up before they returned to Paul's house, hell, even before that first amazing kiss before dinner. Their sweat slicked bodies moved together with no real rhythm, pressing together in response to frantic, inchoate desire, their cocks clashing, kissing, gliding together and apart, again and again. Paul leaned up taking his mouth again in a fierce, hungry kiss, his tongue plunging into his mouth, ravaging Daniel's even as Daniel ravaged his mouth in return.

The heated tension was rising in his body as if every cell was contracting in on itself, tightening with delicious, painful pressure. His body pushed down and along the body beneath his, sweat easing the glide of flesh against flesh as moans were traded like kisses. He was nearing the edge and Paul was right there with him. Paul's body was bucking upwards, pushing into his, writhing with ecstatic delight. Paul released his mouth to kiss along his neck, biting and sucking at his pulse point before moving down to nip along his collarbone.

The wonderful tension was building, racing through his blood and then suddenly the body beneath his stiffened and Paul cried out his name, before biting down hard at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. The sharp pain of teeth digging into flesh and bone fired along his nerves, triggering Daniel's own orgasm. His responding cry seemed to come from very far away as his body trembled with release and his vision blurred.

He lay gasping and utterly boneless upon Paul's body, dimly aware of the other man's hands stroking soothingly along his back as he struggled to regain his shattered control. The room was quiet save for their harsh breathing and the low hum of the air-conditioner in the window. When he could breath once more he raised his head to look at the man beneath him. Paul's face wore the look of a man well sated, his eyes soft and his smile warm and slightly smug. Daniel smiled in response as Paul reached up to trace his fingertips along the curve of his lips. 

"That was..." Daniel began, his brain struggling to rearrange his disordered brain cells and find a word that could describe what had just passed between them. Nope. No words were coming to mind.

Paul's smile became fonder. "Yeah. Very." He agreed amiably.

Daniel continued looking at the man beneath him, feeling a bit sheepish. "Sorry about that," he apologized. "I know you said that your plans for the weekend didn't include doing it on the sofa."

"Actually," Paul began, "my only quibble about earlier was that I was trying hard to maintain enough control to keep from ravishing you before dinner. For the record, I have no qualms whatsoever about doing it on the sofa. Or against the front door. Or on the floor. Or in the shower. Or on the kitchen table. Or..."

"OK, OK, I get the idea." Daniel groused with a warm smile on his own face. Message received and understood.

Paul rested the palm of his hand against Daniel's cheek and Daniel felt his heart lurch at the devotion he saw on Paul's face. "That was incredible, Daniel. You're incredible. You know that?"

He felt his cheeks warm at the compliment. "It goes both ways Paul."

The other man chuckled. "Yeah, I got that impression." He lightly patted Daniel on the ass. "Why don't we clean up and move this party to the bedroom?"

"You're just full of all kinds of good ideas tonight," Daniel shot back with a sly glance. He moved off the sofa and reached a hand down to help Paul stand then used the clasp to pull his body in close for a long, lingering kiss. 

When they parted Paul leaned over and gave Daniel a quick peck on the tip of his nose. "C'mon," he said, drawing Daniel along to his bedroom hidden in the shadows at the top of the stairs.

* * *

The dim, early morning light was sifting through the curtains of the bedroom window as Paul emerged from sleep. His eyes flickered quickly to the digital display of his clock radio, noting the '7:06' marked in bright red figures, before he turned his head to view the figure sleeping next to him.

Paul had never considered himself to be a particularly philosophical man, but he couldn't help reflecting that sometimes you really do get what you hope for. It was hard to believe that just yesterday Paul had been lying on the bed in Daniel's hotel room wishing desperately that he could stay and watch him sleeping, to see his body bathed in the soft light of morning. And here he was, a little over twenty-four hours later, getting his fondest wish.

Daniel was sprawled on the bed next to him, lying on his stomach, his face turned towards Paul, half hidden by the pillow. The sheet had slipped down, draping over the curve of his buttocks, exposing his upper body to the hazy sunlight. Paul propped himself up on one elbow, admiring the curve of his spine, the sleekly muscled back, the bulge of biceps as his arm curved up beneath the pillow. He was even more beautiful now than he had been bathed in moonlight if such a thing were possible.

He reached a hand out, drawing inquisitive, hungry fingers from broad shoulder to tapered waist. Daniel shifted beneath his touch, sighed softly but did not wake. Paul wasn't terribly surprised that Daniel remained asleep; he was probably worn out from the night's activities. Just thinking about the little, ah, encounter in his living room after dinner brought a smile to his face. He had no idea that demure Dr. Jackson could be so aggressive when it came to sex. It was an unexpected but decidedly welcome discovery. Though given how passionate Daniel was about his work, maybe it shouldn't have come as a surprise.

After the fevered sex in the living room, they'd gone to the bathroom to clean up. That in and of itself had been a delightfully erotic experience. He smiled, remembering Daniel washing him, drawing the damp cloth gently across his belly and thighs, his clever, nimble fingers tracing patterns in his skin. They had retired to Paul's bed where they had spent a long time simply touching and kissing, their bodies moving slowly and subtly together. 

The second round of lovemaking had been different; softer, slower and infinitely gentle. The heated urgency of the previous encounter had burned through them, but the underlying passion remained. They had lain on the bed facing one another kissing and caressing, a tangle of limbs as each man wrapped his hand around the other's erection and had brought one another to satisfying completion. 

Afterwards, he had spooned his body up behind Daniel's wrapping an arm around his chest and a legs across his, nuzzling the soft hair at his nape until he felt the other man's body relax and drift into slumber. This time there was no need to part, no reason to leave Daniel alone in bed, so he let himself follow Daniel into sleep, his body sated and his mind at ease.

Now here he was lying in his own bed with the man he had coveted for so long beside him. Paul felt almost lightheaded with relief, a small part of him terrified that he might wake to find that the night before, all of it, was simply an amazing dream that vanished with the dawn. He kept finding his hand drawn to the other man's sleeping form, needing to touch to feel warm skin beneath his fingertips to reassure himself that he was really there and not of figment of an over active and over aroused mind. 

But even that was not enough. Paul wanted all of him, wanted to taste the stale sweat of his skin, to smell the faint lingering scent of musky arousal clinging to his body, to hear the soft breathy moans as Daniel lost himself to pleasure. He shifted over, moving closer to the other man, feeling the mattress dip beneath his weight. He leaned over to place a soft kiss to the nape of Daniel's neck, a spot he had already discovered was especially sensitive. Daniel's body shivered in response, but remained still. He placed soft kisses along the shoulders, along the jut of bone of the shoulder blade, then slowly and inexorably he worked his way down the spine, counting each vertebrae with a kiss and a flick of tongue. He moved to the side, trailing his tongue along the curve of the ribs from back to front, then reversing direction.

Daniel's body began to shift, responding in his sleep to the gentle but persistent stimulation Paul was bringing to bear upon him. He reached down, pulling the cotton sheet away to reveal the rest of Daniel's body. He sprinkled delicate kisses along the other man's buttocks before trailing his tongue along the crack, slipping it inside and drawing it down and then up in long smooth strokes. Daniel moaned, a deep, throaty sound and then his legs moved apart, responding instinctively, welcoming the erotic foray. He drew his tongue further down to the dark pucker, flicking and teasing before slipping quickly in and then out again.

"Paul," Daniel's sleepy voice whispered as his hips bucked, moving into the stimulation at his anus. "Mmm, Paul...feels so good."

"So do you, Daniel," Paul responded, his own voice husky with desire. He moved rapidly back up along Daniel's body, planting quick, haphazard kisses along the way. He covered Daniel's body with his own, stretching out the entire length. He kissed Daniel once again behind the ear and then asked "What do you want, Daniel?"

"This," Daniel answered, his voice dreamy with a mixture of slumber and lust. "Like this. Your weight on me. Feels good."

"God, Daniel. You are so beautiful. Do you have any idea?"

Daniel didn't respond with words, instead he shifted his legs so that Paul's erect cock slipped between the crack in his ass, the entire heated length flush against his buttocks. "Daniel," he hissed as he felt himself grow impossibly harder.

"Mmm, yes. That feels good."

Daniel stretched his arms out, resting them over Paul's, entwining their fingers together. Then he raised his hips upwards. Paul groaned and his own hips shifted and moved in response. Daniel writhed beneath him, a slow, undulating motion like a serpent, and Paul moved against him in counterpoint, his cock still resting nestled between the cheeks of Daniel's ass. Paul nuzzled Daniel's hair, slipping his tongue in the other man's ear, delighting in the shivers the action elicited. And all the while Daniel undulated beneath him while Paul slowly fucked against his buttocks.

Like the last time, the lovemaking was slow and lush, their bodies moving with a slumberous languor. It went on for a long time, their bodies rising and falling in the hushed stillness of the bedroom that was broken only by the occasional moan or softly whispered of endearment. Eventually, however, the need to reach completion transformed the sensuous, indolent mood of their early morning sex, infusing it with a greater urgency. Paul's thrusts became shorter and faster, Daniel was bucking upwards with greater force until they tumbled into heaving gasping pleasure.

Daniel released Paul's hands, stretching his arms up over his head as Paul collapsed over onto his back next to him.

"Mmm, that was nice," Daniel purred, his manner and movement uncannily like that of a cat rising from slumber. He looked over at Paul through half lidded eyes, an inscrutable smile on his face. It was no good; Paul had to kiss him. He rolled over towards Daniel who welcomed him with open arms and soft lips. God, how had he lived without this, without him for so long?

Paul collapsed once more onto his back, turning his head to look at the thoroughly pleased man at his side. "Hell of a way to start the morning," Daniel observed, his voice as smug as his expression.

"You'll get no argument from me."

"Well then, how 'bout coffee?" Daniel asked. 

Paul laughed. "You have a one track mind."

"I beg to differ," Daniel sniffed in mock hauteur. "I am quite sure I have two tracks at the very least. Don't tell me you weren't paying attention to the first one?"

He reached over and stroked a hand along Daniel's back, an act that was quickly becoming a favorite pastime. "Oh no. There is no way I could have missed that one, Daniel." He pulled himself off the bed and made his way over to the other side, dropping a quick kiss on one bare shoulder before snagging his robe at the bottom of the bed. "One pot of coffee coming up."

"Mmm," was Daniel's only response before he slipped once more into sleep.

* * *

Once he'd started the coffee brewing, he slipped back into the bedroom and quickly donned a pair of shorts and a tee shirt and went out to pick up some breakfast. He was almost out the door before deciding he should leave a note on the off chance Daniel woke up in his absence.

Twenty minutes later he was back at his front door, a bag of freshly baked pastries in hand. He grabbed the paper off the porch and let himself back into cool interior, grateful to escape the humidity that hung heavily in the air outside, promising a brutal muggy afternoon. After dropping his acquisitions on the kitchen table, he returned to the bedroom, drawn there as if by an invisible tether. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the wooden jamb, once again watching Daniel sleep. The other man had shifted in his sleep and was now lying on his back, one arm resting across his middle, the other flung to the side, his hand dangling over the edge of the mattress. This was a sight he would never grow tired of, he thought to himself. He was smiling what he was sure must be a dopey grin, but frankly he didn't care. There was no one to witness it and even if there were, well, he'd earned the right to be a bit smug. He'd waited a long time to get Daniel in his bed and he was going to enjoy every moment of it. His eyes roamed over the lithe form spread out before him, hard and lean, powerful and oh so very sensuous and he felt his cock give a twitch. The temptation to walk over to the bed and rouse the other man for another round of lovemaking was almost irresistible and he suspected that Daniel wouldn't complain. 

He resisted the urge, pushing off from the doorframe and heading to the shower. As tempting as it might be to loll away the day in bed, Paul didn't want to rush things. This was all so new for both of them and he didn't want the other man to get the impression that Paul was only interested in him for sex. Even if it was amazing, mind blowing sex.

He quickly stripped, and adjusting the temperature of the water to the uncomfortable side of cool, he stepped beneath the spray. 

Truth be told, Paul's reluctance to ravish the slumbering linguist for the fourth time in under twelve hours had less to do with restraint than with his own unwillingness to take advantage of Daniel or to pressure him into doing something he might not be comfortable with. He and Daniel hadn't really discussed their relative experience or inexperience as the case may be. Paul was fairly experienced and had done a bit of everything, including penetration, both giving and receiving, but he had no idea if Daniel had ever been with another man, apart from that brief and disastrous encounter with O'Neill. He knew he was probably being overly protective, but he'd seen the aftermath of the failed relationship with O'Neill firsthand and he had no intention of repeating the earlier debacle. 

Of course, Daniel had thrown him for a bit of a loop by trying to nail him against the front door. Not that he had any complaints about that. None at all. He hadn't been lying when he told Daniel that he was ready and willing to have sex with him anywhere or anyway he wanted. And Daniel's enthusiastic and rather aggressive reaction was a very good sign and suggested that he had at least some experience as well as an idea of what he wanted. Paul knew what he wanted: everything. He wanted to take Daniel's dick in his mouth and suck him off again like he had in the hushed hotel room; he wanted to feel Daniel going down on him, to have those soft full lips over and around him. He wanted to touch and taste and explore without restraint, without hesitation. But most of all, he wanted to be inside Daniel and have Daniel inside of him in return. He hoped that they would be able to test some of the limits that evening.

He was so lost in his own erotic thoughts that he wasn't aware of Daniel's presence until the other man pulled the shower curtain aside and slipped inside the tub behind him.

"Do you mind sharing?" Daniel asked, his voice low and husky.

Paul turned, wiping water from his eyes and was rewarded with the sight of the naked linguist wearing a distinctly lecherous grin. "Not at all," he responded keeping his tone casual though the filthy smile he gave in return said more than words what he thought of the idea.

"Here, let me," he offered, taking the bar of soap from Paul's hand and working up a rich lather before spreading it across the other man's chest. His gestures were supple and sure, his hands gliding across Paul's skin in long sweeping strokes, his fingers lightly massaging. Paul grabbed the discarded bar of soap and quickly worked it into a lather before repeating the same actions on Daniel's body. Yes, this was nice, this was what he wanted, this casual, comfortable intimacy. He was surprised at how easy it was and how natural it felt. Daniel grabbed the bar of soap, worked it into a lather again before turning his ministrations to Paul's back. This time, he intercepted the bar of soap, taking it from Daniel's suds covered hand. Once again, he repeated Daniel's actions, mirroring them, echoing them, as he trailed soap-covered hands up and down the well muscled back. 

They were close now, close by not touching beyond the hands trailing along and across each other's backs. He could feel his cock swell and harden at the gentle touch of Daniel's hands, he could feel the heat rising as Daniel's eyes seared into his, speaking of hunger and need. There was lust there, but also a hint of challenge as they slowly and methodically worked one another into a state of intense arousal. This was different than the night before and the feverish, unbridled passion in the living room. It was different even from the languorous lovemaking in the bedroom. This was about control, about maintaining it and then stripping it away touch by heated touch. He knew even without looking that Daniel's cock was as erect as his, knew with absolute certainty that Daniel wanted more, wanted to feel their cocks rubbing together, their lips to touch and their tongues to clash and tangle together. It was like an erotic game of chicken, each man watching the other, waiting to see who would lose control first. They stood there doing nothing but stroking each other, chest, back arms, nothing below the waist. Paul had never been so turned on in his entire life. Nor was he alone. Daniel's face was deliciously flushed, his mouth parted emitting ragged gasping breaths. Then he bit down on his lower lip, holding it between his teeth, struggling to hold himself to stillness. Paul watched in a daze as water streaked down his face, along his neck and chest and the urge to lick the moisture from his skin was overwhelming. 

And then his control snapped. With a low growl, he pulled Daniel into his arms taking his mouth in a fierce kiss. His hands reached down and clamped onto Daniel's ass, pulling him in as tight as possible, pressing their groins together with almost savage intensity. At the first touch of their cocks, both men moaned and bucked. It was like electricity suddenly rushing through them, firing every nerve in their bodies at once. Paul pushed Daniel against the wet tiles of the shower wall, grinding against the other man seeking release. He knew they wouldn't last, the feelings were simply too intense. Daniel wrapped one long leg around his, pulling him in closer still as he thrust into Daniel, while his arms wound around his neck and his hands twisted in Paul's hair.

Paul was thrusting frantically against Daniel now as the other man bucked up against him, his face pressed into Paul's neck and his breath gasping hot and moist against his skin. And then he was coming, his strangled cry of "Daniel!" echoing off the tiled walls, mingling with the sound of the spray pounding against the tub and then Daniel was there with him, tumbling over the edge with Paul's name on his lips.

They stood there for a long time, their bodies twined together, water splashing against their limbs while they regained control of their senses. Daniel was placing wet, sloppy kisses along his cheek, his chin, down his throat, his face glowing with contentment. Paul couldn't help but smile, that sappy, dopey smile he'd worn as he'd watched the other man sleeping

"Well, that was fun," he said leaning in to nibble along Daniel's ear. The other man laughed, no giggled, as Paul nipped a sensitive spot on his neck.

"Definitely beats the showers at the SGC any day," Daniel agreed wrapping his arms around Paul's neck and drawing his down for a kiss. 

"I aim to please."

"And you do it very well," Daniel assured him.

"C'mon," Paul suggested as he pressed a kiss to Daniel's forehead, "lets get out of here and get dried off. I've got a pot of coffee and fresh pastries for breakfast."

"You don't have to ask me twice," Daniel responded as he followed Paul out of the shower.

* * *

They spent the rest of the morning sprawled across the sofa in the living room, drinking coffee, nibbling on pastries and reading the Washington Post. This was nice, Daniel thought, this relaxed familiarity. Although the sex was spectacular, Daniel found that he was savoring the simplicity of a quiet morning spent together, trading off sections of the newspaper, splitting the last, slightly squished pain au chocolat and sharing the occasional charged gaze. 

Daniel was surprised at how...well...comfortable he felt with Paul, how easy things were between them. It was so different from how things had been with Jack even before things went bad. With Jack there was a certain rivalry underlying their interaction, usually good-natured but occasionally shading into antagonism. With Jack there was a constant push and pull. His relationship with Jack was frustrating, exhausting and even a bit bewildering at times. And complicated, always complicated. Paul, by contrast, was easy; straightforward, thoughtful and considerate. And Paul certainly didn't drive him to distraction on a nearly hourly basis. No doubt about it. This kind of relationship was much, much better. 

Daniel frowned to himself, taking a sip of his cooling coffee to hide the expression from Paul. He was doing it again. Comparing Paul and Jack. He had promised himself he wouldn't do it. It wasn't fair to either man and honestly, they were so different, despite their military background, that any comparisons would be simplistic at best. He put his mug back down on the coffee table and smiled fondly at Paul who was currently reading the sports section and mumbling mournful observations about the Orioles current standings in the American League East. 'Yes,' he thought, 'This was much better.'

* * *

The remainder of the day passed leisurely. Although it was tempting to spend the whole day snuggled on the sofa, or better yet sprawled naked and wanton across his bed, Paul finally lured Daniel outside. The eventually made their way to the National Gallery, a cool marble haven in the midst of the muggy, sweltering heat of downtown. They walked through the tasteful galleries, past depictions of imperious Madonnas swathed in mantles of lapis lazuli and seated on gilded thrones, past the portraits of middle class burgers in their somber black suits and stiff ruffled collars gazing sternly at them from richly paneled walls, past the limpid landscapes of the Impressionists, all charming sugary confections spun of light and air. Daniel had been alight with pleasure, basking in the simple joy of being surrounded by beautiful things in the company of someone who shared his enjoyment in equal measure. 

Paul was determined to remain the consummate host: thoughtful, attentive and eager to please. From their excursion through the museum, through the early dinner on the Waterfront, through the concert at the Kennedy Center, Paul had pulled out all the stops to ensure they had the perfect day. He'd been especially lucky, scoring them seats in one of the upper boxes where the acoustics were at their finest. Now here they were, sipping champagne at intermission, gazing out at the Potomac and just enjoying one another's company.

Daniel suddenly chuckled.

"What?" Paul asked, taking another sip of champagne.

Daniel shook his head, still laughing to himself. "Nothing."

"C'mon, share." He wheedled, nudging Daniel lightly with his elbow, grinning at the other man's coy response.

"Well," Daniel drawled, 'I was just thinking back to the early days at the SGC. I was staying at Jack's place back then. I hadn't found a place of my own yet and I was still trying to get a lot of things sorted out. You have no idea how much paperwork is involved in trying to re-establish your status as a living breathing person once you've been declared legally dead. Not an experience I can recommend, by the way." He took a quick drink before continuing. 

"Anyway, one day about a month after I'd arrived, Jack asked me if I wanted to go to a concert. I figured it was Springsteen or some rock singer or other. Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be a performance of 'Tosca' by the Colorado Opera Company. Hell of a way to learn that Jack is a huge opera buff. Needless to say I was a tad underdressed for the evening, though I put the blame squarely on Jack for keeping me in the dark on purpose. He got quite a chuckle out of the whole thing."

Daniel smiled again, his expression fond and even a bit wistful. He lowered his head to drink again so he failed to notice how the other man's expression hardened and his lips flattened into a line at the affectionate mention of his rival's name.

* * *

The rest of the night passed without incident. They returned to Paul's townhouse with a culturally sated Daniel smoldering wantonly at him all way home. Paul had poured them each a cognac they barely touched, electing instead to neck on the sofa like a pair of teenagers. He certainly had no complaints about the selected activity. They'd ended up sprawled the length of the sofa with Daniel draped wantonly across him while Paul received a first hand demonstration of why the humorous quip 'linguists do it with tongue' was so very a propos. He was thoroughly convinced that kissing, not English, was Daniel Jackson's lingua franca. 

Daniel had once more taken the lead, efficiently and methodically separating Paul from his suddenly painfully restricting clothing, his long fingers deftly releasing buttons and latches with a skill Paul doubted he could match. Once he'd gotten Paul stripped to the skin, Daniel had leaned back, raking his body with a glance that was frankly admiring before following his heated gaze with lips and tongue. Daniel moved down his body in a deliciously erratic-and highly erotic-manner before he finally arrived at Paul's cock, already hard and aching with need. Daniel smiled at him then, a wonderfully filthy smile before he embarked on fulfilling one of Paul's unspoken fantasies by taking him in his mouth. Daniel revealed an unexpected skill at fellatio, setting up an alternating rhythm of long slow pulls and shorter, teasing sucks perfectly modulated to keep him on the brink. By the time Daniel finally allowed him to come, Paul was seeing stars. He had pulled a justly smug Daniel down and kissed him deeply, tasting himself on that talented tongue.

When they'd finally broken the kiss, both of them panting and dizzy, Paul had returned the favor, practically tearing the clothes from his lover's body before ravaging Daniel with mouth and hands. Daniel, he discovered, was responsive, sensitive and very ticklish so Paul had turned that knowledge against him, eliciting a chorus of groans and giggles until Daniel was a helpless, quivering, giddy wreck. Only then did he go down on the other man to the rousing refrain of gasping moans and whimpering sobs. And when Daniel came in his mouth, Paul couldn't help but think that life was very good indeed.

They'd lain twined together on the sofa, naked, sweaty and spent. Neither one had the energy nor inclination to move for a long time, preferring to just bask in the afterglow. Eventually they'd roused themselves and retreated to the bedroom where they'd explored one another's bodies, teasing and tormenting until they achieved mutual orgasm.

Although the sex was incredible, in some ways Paul enjoyed the aftermath even more. He loved trailing his hands along the sleek muscles of Daniel's back and thighs, feeling the sweat dewed skin as it cooled from the fever of arousal. He loved looking at Daniel, admiring freely what he'd so long coveted in secret, the taut swell of his ass, the solid bulge of a bicep or the curve of his cheekbone. Best of all, he loved gazing into those slumberous eyes, dark and contented and the sleepy smile that Daniel shared with him before he drifted off. Paul felt fiercely proprietary and not a little smug at the realization that he, not O'Neill, had this extraordinary man in his bed. Daniel was here with him, by choice, and Paul reveled in the satisfaction that the knowledge gave him. 'Mine' he thought as he followed Daniel into slumber.

The following morning, they'd repeated their little shower games. Daniel in any state was wonderful, but Daniel wet and slippery and covered with soap was truly amazing. They moved together under the warm spray, soap slickened skin rubbing and sliding and the two of them kissing and laughing into each others mouths as the mood shifted from erotic to playful and back again. His hands had been all over Daniel, drawing him to arousal and then beyond, pumping him rough and hard like Daniel wanted. And then Daniel had knelt down and taken his cock in his mouth. Paul found himself against the shower wall, fingers scrambling for a non-existent handhold as he desperately tried to hold himself still while Daniel sucked him off with that incredible mouth. He'd come sobbing Daniel's name, trembling with the force of his orgasm. He'd stood there, propped against the cold tiles of the shower wall waiting for the tremors to subside and when he looked down, he was treated to the irresistible image of a thoroughly sated Daniel Jackson, glowing with smug pride, while he slowly and provocatively licked his lips.

* * *

Sunday followed the same basic pattern as the day before. They lingered over coffee and croissants and tussled playfully for control of the paper. Daniel relinquished the 'Sports' section without a murmur of protest and Paul graciously conceded the 'Arts' section, though they'd eventually had to flip a coin over the front page. He didn't even bother asking about the crossword puzzle, wisely selecting not to enter into that particular skirmish with a multi-lingual genius.

They'd once again spent the afternoon making a tour of the museums along the Mall before eventually ending up at the Hotel Washington for drinks. They'd ensconced themselves in a pair of wicker chairs at the edge of the terrace, enjoying the spectacular view, the cool breeze and chilled marguerites in equal measure. It had been a perfect day. Only one thing marred Paul's pleasure of it: O'Neill. Paul was becoming painfully aware that Daniel Jackson and Jack O'Neill were a package deal; you simply couldn't have one without the other. 

All weekend long, Paul had felt O'Neill's presence almost as keenly as if the man himself were there rather than back in Colorado. Daniel evoked the name of O'Neill again and again over the course of the day, apparently oblivious to that fact that the Colonel held such an eminent place in his thoughts and memories. Everything seemed connected to O'Neill in some way, every sight and experience drew forth some recollection of the other man. Some were obvious, such as the mention as they walked in front of the Air and Space Museum. Some were more elliptical, such as their viewing of the brightly colored Native American textiles on display at the Museum of American History which brought to mind the woven textiles of the people of PR5-277 which in turn led to a story of the Colonel's participation in a local game that bore more than a passing resemblance to field hockey and how O'Neill's obvious skill had so impressed the Chief and the council of elders they'd happily approved a treaty that gave the SGC access to a number of indigenous plants that boasted amazing medicinal properties. 

Others of Daniel's tales had featured the team in its entirety, but they always inevitably featured the Colonel in a prominent role like his story of a dinner at a local Mexican restaurant not long after the team had been formed and how the Colonel had had to explain to a bemused Teal'c that the proverbial worm in the bottom of a bottle of Tequila had no connection to the Goa'uld whatsoever.

It wasn't the stories in and of themselves that bothered Paul, nor was it the frequency with which O'Neill's name was mentioned. He was, after all Daniel's friend and a member of what Paul knew to be an incredibly tight-knit team. No, what Paul found most disconcerting was the obvious fondness with which the name was evoked. Daniel's eyes would grow soft, his laugh and smile indulgent and there was a warmth that ran through his narratives that spoke more loudly that the words themselves of how close the two of them really were. 

And though he knew it was futile and even a bit childish, Paul couldn't help feel a bit jealous at these continuing manifestations of Daniel's devotion to the other man. Every time he managed to swallow down his sullen resentment, Daniel would go and mention O'Neill once more. Each reference to the other man became like a prick of a knife; each tiny slash was bearable in itself while the cumulative effect pained him beyond words.

As the weekend progressed he found these continuous reminders of his hated rival to be increasingly infuriating. He wanted to say something to Daniel, perhaps even chide the man for the unintentional hurt he was causing but he couldn't bring himself to say anything, as if giving voice to his jealousy and resentment would simply serve to strengthen the hold that O'Neill seemed to maintain over Daniel's heart.

For the rest of the evening, from the dinner downtown, to the perfectly forgettable film they'd rented so they could spend a quiet night alone together, through the cognac they'd sipped outside seated on the steps leading down to the tiny, narrow backyard of Paul's townhouse, Paul found his mind going back to the painful and irrefutable truth that O'Neill still reigned supreme in Daniel's heart and that Daniel himself was only dimly aware of that fact, if at all. That sudden and unwelcome realization cast a pall over the little time that remained to them. Every time Paul looked at Daniel it was with the knowledge that he was only borrowing him and that anything between them was only temporary and paled in comparison to what still lay between Daniel and O'Neill. It was a humbling insight and one he could quite happily have lived without, but now that he experienced it, he knew there was no going back.

They made love that night, long and slow and sweet, as if for the very last time, because Paul knew that in all likelihood that was the case. He catalogued every sight, every sound, every sensation, guarding them close to his heart. They lay at last twined together on the rumpled cotton sheets as their overheated bodies cooled and slumber called.

Paul didn't sleep. He lay there looking at Daniel for a long time, caressing the lean body and beautiful visage with covetous eyes and hands just as he had for the three nights preceding this one. He felt a terrible ache in his chest because he could deny it no longer; Daniel wasn't his, he never had been. He'd never again lay like this and admire Daniel's body, never again know the delight of waking up together and loving one another in the still, hushed hours before dawn, never see those heavy slumberous eyes gaze into his own as his mouth curved into a sweet, contented smile. Never again.

He lay there beside Daniel for hours, watching him sleep until the first gray light of dawn began to seep through the curtains. Paul rose then and quickly dressed. He needed to be alone to think and prepare himself for what he knew would most assuredly be an unhappy farewell. He stood in the doorway, gazing once more at Daniel's face blurred and softened in the early morning light before turning and walking away.

* * *

When Daniel awoke, he was surprised to find that he was alone in the bed. His hand stretched out, feeling sheets that were cold from a protracted lack of body heat. He rolled over on to his back and strained his ears, but he couldn't hear the pounding spray of the shower that had been the site of some rather boisterous aquatic games the two previous mornings. Rolling out of the bed, Daniel snagged Paul's robe and padded out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He peered into the living room and then the kitchen but there was no sign of the other man. It was then that he noticed the piece of paper resting on the marble countertop. He picked it up and read it, recognizing Paul's neat script immediately.

Daniel,

I needed to do some things this morning. The coffee is brewed   
and there some pastries on the table.

Be back soon,

Paul

Daniel frowned, then put the sheet of paper down, trying to dispel the sudden and no doubt unwarranted notion that something was wrong. He was sure it was nothing but his overactive imagination. He pushed the idea aside as he poured himself a cup of coffee, allowing the familiar aroma to soothe his jangled nerves. 'He probably just had to run some errands,' Daniel chided himself. 'His schedule is pretty hectic on a good day and he's spent every waking moment playing attentive host for your benefit. So cut the guy some slack, for crying out loud.'

Half an hour later, freshly showered and dressed, Daniel walked into the living room to find that Paul had returned and was now seated in his leather armchair, lost in thought. He looked up at Daniel's entrance and offered a quick smile and a soft "hey" in his direction. Daniel smiled and gave his own greeting in return as he moved further into the room.

"Daniel," Paul began looking at him and holding his gaze. "We need to talk."

Daniel stopped in mid-stride. He felt a sudden uneasiness rise up at those words, or perhaps it was the tone, somber and slightly strained, that was making him uncomfortable. Daniel chastised himself for his foolishness. There was no reason to be nervous. Why should there be? Everything had been going wonderfully-no, perfectly--between he and Paul all weekend. He sighed inwardly. This was yet another side effect of his ill-starred liaison with Jack, this expectation of disaster in the midst of romantic bliss.

"Sure," he responded, making sure to keep his tone light as he sat down on the edge of the sofa nearest to Paul. "What's on your mind?"

Now that he was seated next to him, Daniel could see the tension permeating Paul's body, the stiffness of his carriage, the fine creases in his brow. Daniel's anxiety rose another notch.

Paul drew a deep breath, then expelled it noisily. His gaze skittered to the side and Daniel watched as he swallowed before directing his gaze at his once more.

"I don't quite know how to say this," Paul began and there was no mistaking the very faint tremor in his voice when he spoke those words. "Daniel, I think we've...I've made a mistake here."

"Paul?" Daniel queried, his heart suddenly pounding madly in his chest.

"It's too soon," he explained somewhat cryptically. "I jumped the gun and moved to soon."

"Paul, I'm not sure I understand," Daniel remarked tentatively though a part of his mind was shrieking that he knew exactly what Paul meant by those words.

"You're still not over him, Daniel." 

He didn't need to identify the 'him' in question.

Daniel opened his mouth to respond. But Paul shook his head. 

"Please," Paul said, raising his hand to arrest any further comment. "Let me try to explain." He took another deep breath and released it before standing and beginning to pace the length of the living room.

"I've always known about you and O'Neill. It was there right from the start." He paused, giving Daniel, a wry smile that shaded faintly into bitterness. "Did you know, the first time I saw the two of you together, I thought you were already lovers? You were so close, even then, and when you looked at one another, I swear, you generated enough electricity to power the gate." He chuckled at his own quip before continuing. 

"I'd already fallen for you by then, you see, so I noticed these things. It drove me crazy every time I came to the base and had to see the two of you together. All the intimate little touches, the private smiles, the way your eyes lit up every time he entered the room. I wanted you to look at me like that. I wanted you to look at me with your eyes full of tenderness and affection. But you didn't. You didn't even know I existed. So I buried my feelings deep, told myself it wasn't meant to be and I went along and did my duty.

"It never went away, though, no matter how much I wanted it to. It was always there right beneath the surface. Desire, need. Regret. But as long as O'Neill was around, I knew that I never stood a chance in hell of having you. So I decided that if I couldn't have your love, then perhaps at the very least I could try to gain your friendship. It wasn't what I'd dreamed about, but I'd decided it would be enough.

"And then eight months ago it happened. O'Neill fucked up and he took himself out of the picture, repressed bastard that he was. Every time I came to the SGC after that I could see the distance growing between you, the rift getting wider and my hope grew with it. And when word came down that you and O'Neill would be coming to the Pentagon, I believed that the chance I'd been waiting for had finally come. You were free at last. No commitments, no obligations to O'Neill or anyone else. I could finally tell you how I felt."

He looked at Daniel then, his eyes filled with affection but tinged with sorrow. 

"These past few days with you, they've been wonderful, Daniel. Not just making love to you, but all of it; the conversations, the quiet moments together, waking up and seeing you asleep in my bed. Its every thing I've dreamed about. The problem is, even though you're here with me, you're still not mine. Your body may be here with me, but O'Neill still has your heart."

"No," Daniel said, standing as well and shaking his head vigorously in denial at Paul's words. "That's not true. It's over between Jack and I. I told you that. He made his choice a long time ago and so have I."

It was Paul's turn to shake his head. "You're wrong Daniel. O'Neill is still every bit a part of you as he's ever been. D'you know, you talk about him constantly? You don't even notice it because you're so accustomed to him being at the center of your world. You've built your life around him, Daniel. He's your foundation. You can't just change that overnight, even if you wanted to."

Daniel's eyes narrowed at that last comment. "Are you implying that I don't want to get over Jack?"

"Yes," he stated simply. "At least on some level. You might think you do, you might even be trying to, but I don't know that you really can."

Paul looked him squarely in the eye. "You're still in love with him, Daniel."

Daniel paled at that pronouncement..

"It's my fault. When I saw my chance, I grabbed it both hands without thinking through the consequences. I should have known you couldn't just get over O'Neill so easily. It's not your style to give up on the people you care about, even when they don't treat you the way you deserve. That dedication is one of the things I admire most about you." 

Paul shook his head again. "I guess the Colonel doesn't have the patent on denial and bad judgment when it comes to you. And in my case, I suppose you can also add bad timing."

He turned pleading eyes once more upon him. "I'm sorry, Daniel. I really am. I do want you." He laughed then, a pained little sound. "How could I not? But I won't be a substitute or a pleasant diversion until you and O'Neill reconcile. We both deserve better than that and I'm too selfish to share you with another man. He's been here haunting us all weekend and he's standing between us even now. Until that ghost is laid to rest, there can never be anything between us, Daniel. I'm sorry. My bed isn't big enough for all three of us."

Daniel flinched as if he'd been struck. No. No. Nononononono. That was his only coherent thought and it echoed maddeningly around in his brain.

Paul moved towards Daniel, hand extended. "Maybe some day it'll work out for us. Hope springs eternal after all." 

He reached out to touch Daniel's cheek, but he moved away quickly, stumbling just out of reach. "No," was all Daniel said.

"Daniel, please," he said, stepping towards him once more. Once again Daniel moved away from him. "I never meant to hurt you. Believe me, this is tearing me up inside, but it has to be this way. There is no way we can be together, not until you are finally over him once and for all." 

Paul moved forward one more time. This time he succeeded in placing a hand on Daniel's shoulder before he shrugged it off. "Don't," Daniel said, his voice sounding distant in his ears.

"Daniel, please," Paul repeated, pleading for understanding.

Daniel gazed back at him coolly, making Paul stop his forward motion. "I think I should leave now," he announced.

"At least let me drive you back to the hotel," Paul offered, his voice slightly shrill with desperation.

"I don't think that would be a very good idea," he replied coolly. "I'll hail a cab."

Daniel moved towards the front door as swiftly as his wounded pride and his fractured heart would allow. He had just placed his hand on the knob when he heard Paul's soft voice call out to him. "Daniel, I am sorry."

He stopped for a long moment, but he didn't turn around to look at the other man. "So am I."

And with that, Daniel opened the door and walked out, closing it firmly behind him.

 

Chapter Seven

After nearly a week away from home, Daniel felt the same mild disorientation that he experienced in the wake of an off world mission with SG-1. As always, he felt strangely wired and restless, filled with too much energy and not enough direction. He conducted his typical post travel rituals on autopilot; checking the mail, the answering machine, his e-mail account. He made note of the groceries he needed to buy, milk and bread, fresh apples and pasta, toothpaste, but decided to leave that tiresome chore until tomorrow. He'd watered the plants that he hadn't yet managed to kill and hastily unpacked his suitcase, tossing his clothes in the hamper and the bag of toiletries back unto the shelf in his linen closet. Those necessary tasks completed, he found he still had too much energy to sit still.

So he prowled about his apartment aimlessly, looking for something to focus upon, to hold his scattered attention. He walked into the kitchen, thinking about putting on a pot of coffee, but as he stood in front of the coffeemaker he decided that the last thing he needed was a dose of caffeine on top of his already considerable nervous tension. He returned to the living room and careened over to the stereo and turning it on. A few more quick jabs to the buttons and the apartment was filled with the soothing strains of the "Suite Bergamasque." He paused for a moment, his hand hovering over CD player as he contemplated changing the CD. He let it play.

He walked into his study then, its walls covered with bookcases crammed to capacity with books. Still more tomes were scattered in crooked little piles on the floor or nested in the narrow space on top of the bookcases themselves. Daniel moved along the shelves, his fingers ghosting across the spines, pausing now and then to caress the binding of an especially well loved book. 

He suddenly stopped, his hand reaching out to withdraw a thin volume wedged between two more impressive and weighty tomes. He gazed down at the book in his hands, tracing the stamped gold lettering on the covering with his fingertips. It was a book of Victorian poetry Paul had given him some months back, a reminder of one of those strange and unexpected interests they shared. 

He didn't recall how the topic of Victorian literature had crept into the conversation in the first place, though he did remember telling Paul how he'd grown to love the Victorians and especially the Pre-Raphaelites while studying at Oxford. 'So much fierce passion held in check,' he'd explained. 'Repressed and sublimated and bound up in painfully constructed prose and sumptuous imagery. So wonderfully decadent.' Paul had enthusiastically agreed, citing his own fascination with the grand lyricism of Tennyson, the dramatic monologues of Browning, and of course the razor sharp wit of Oscar Wilde.

They'd laughed and joked, debating the relative merits of "Lady Windemere's Fan" versus "The Importance of Being Earnest." It was the kind of conversation that he'd never been able to have with Jack, or with anyone else at the SGC for that matter. Although the personnel of the SGC were a fairly well educated bunch, their interests as a whole tended to be more pragmatic than literary in nature. Daniel understood this, but every once in a while he enjoyed discussing some of his more esoteric interests purely for the pleasure of it.

When Paul had next visited the SGC, he'd come bearing the thin volume of Victorian poems. He handed it to Daniel almost shyly, smiling and explaining how he'd come across it at a bookseller's stall at Eastern Market one Saturday morning and he'd thought immediately of Daniel. It wasn't an especially rare or early edition and the leather binding was starting to crack and the pages were yellowing and smattered with a few dark stains of encroaching mold, but Daniel was deeply touched by the gesture. It was a souvenir of a pleasant night of easy conversation and spirited debate, a tangible manifestation of their budding friendship. He hadn't been surprised that Paul had been a bit embarrassed when he'd tendered the gift. He was, after all, giving what constituted a book of love poetry to another man. At the time, Daniel had interpreted the book as a simple token of friendship, but in light of more recent developments, Daniel recognized it as symbolizing a good deal more. He wondered how long Paul had been nursing his apparently unrequited crush.

Daniel walked back into his living room, the book still clutched in his hand. He sank into the cushions of the sofa and flipped the book open to a random page and let his eyes scan the text. He'd opened to one of Christina Rossetti's poems, not the "Goblin Market," but one of the less familiar ones, "No, Thank You, John." As his eyes moved across the text, they latched unto the last two stanzas of the tale of a non-existent romance.

Let us strike hands as hearty friends;  
no more, no less; and friendship's good;  
Only don't keep in view ulterior ends,  
And points not understood.

In open treaty. Rise above  
Quibbles and shuffling off and on;  
Here's friendship for you if you like, but love,--  
No, thank you, John

He closed the book and tossed it and his glasses on the coffee table. He scrubbed a hand across his face as he leaned back into the sofa's embrace. 'Christ,' he thought to himself. 'Even the Pre-Raphaelite poets seemed to have an opinion on my love life.' Of course Daniel's John didn't even want the friendship, now did he? He sat there for a long time with his eyes closed, just breathing, concentrating on the intake and exhalation of air. 

This was a mess, all of it. He wanted to hold on to his anger. He wanted to rant and vent and smash things. He wanted to scream to the heavens at the injustice of it all. Why couldn't he be happy? Why was it every time he seemed to find a bit of happiness it was taken away from him? Why did he always end up alone?

That was the crux of the matter. No matter what happened, Daniel always seemed to end up alone. It was as if fates were conspiring against him. The death of his parents, Nick's rejection, his acrimonious split with Sarah, Sha're's abduction and subsequent death. Every time he'd dared to love someone, he'd lost them. The pattern repeated itself again and again, variations on a single theme of loss and regret. It was defeatist he knew, superstitious and childish even, to think in such terms. The world didn't revolve around him, no supernatural forces were at work plotting to deprive him of the warmth of human contact. It was bad luck, bad judgment and the fickle will of human nature.

He'd finally begun to believe that he'd moved beyond it at last when he became part of SG-1. Jack, Sam, Teal'c, they were his friends, his family. He loved them deeply, as deeply as he'd ever loved anyone, and they were still there. They hadn't gone away, or abandoned him, or scorned him. They remained firmly entrenched at his side, buoying him up with the strength of their love.

At least until he and Jack had allowed their fraternal devotion to shade into something different and distinctly carnal. More bad judgment, on both their parts. If he'd known how it would end, he'd never have accepted Jack's kiss the way he had. He'd have stopped it then and there and laughed it off as a moment of drunken foolishness. The problem was, he had accepted the kiss and he'd welcomed, hell, he'd actively encouraged everything that had followed that night. He was as much to blame as Jack for that part of it.

As for what had come afterwards, well, he refused to take the blame for that.

His head was starting to throb and he rubbed his temple trying to ease the pressure. He needed a drink. Badly.

He pushed himself off the sofa and went to the cabinet where he kept the rarely touched bottle of Scotch. He pulled out a glass and poured a finger's width of amber colored liquor, slamming it down in one long pull. He turned to move back to the living room, then paused, grabbing the bottle and taking it with him. He settled on the sofa once more and poured another drink.

He took a sip, feeling the alcohol burn a path down his throat and made himself relax into it. He'd been so angry with Paul when he'd stood in front of him and told Daniel that he still had a thing for Jack. He'd been angry and hurt and utterly devastated, much as he'd been when Jack had pushed him away. And Daniel had reacted badly. He had read Paul's actions as yet another rejection. Paul didn't want him anymore and so he was using Daniel's erstwhile feelings for Jack as a convenient means of escape. 

Daniel had spent the entire flight back to Denver and the drive to Colorado Springs grappling with that idea. The problem was, it didn't ring true. Paul had never lied to him, not once, in the entire time of their acquaintance. And now that he had a bit of physical distance as well as several hours to consider Paul's words, Daniel was forced to admit that maybe Paul was right. Paul's assessment that Jack was the bedrock upon which Daniel had built his existence was painfully accurate. Jack was the one bridge he had between his life prior to Abydos and new life at the SGC. But more than that, Jack was the one constant, the one thing Daniel could always rely upon, no matter what. And that was why Jack's rejection had hurt so damned much. He had trusted Jack absolutely, with the unshakeable, instinctive trust of a child for a beloved parent. The very fact that Daniel was still so terribly angry with Jack even after eight months had elapsed was fairly conclusive evidence that Paul was right about something else. Daniel wasn't over Jack, not yet. Maybe not ever.

God, but this was fucked up. He couldn't even blame Paul for wanting to steer clear of the whole mess. His relationship with Jack was a giant fucking train wreck. There was no point of adding one more bystander to the list of casualties, there were already enough people caught in the fallout. Until he cleared the air with Jack and got his own head on straight, there could never be anything between he and Paul.

He took another sip of his Scotch before resting his head on the back of the sofa and closing his weary eyes, trying to block out the pain of a heart twice broken.

* * *

Jack squared his shoulders before knocking firmly on Daniel's door. He didn't know for certain whether or not Daniel was home, but he felt fairly certain he must be by now. Jack had made a point of checking the schedules for flights from DC to Denver and they would all have arrived by now, except for the red eyes which Jack knew Daniel hated with a passion because he could never get comfortable enough to sleep and consequently he would arrive at his destination muzzy and overly tired.

Jack hadn't called Daniel, either. He knew from experience that it was best to just ambush the man when he was upset or angry. Calling him up simply gave him advance warning and ample time to marshal his arguments. He stood a better chance of hashing things out with Daniel when he hadn't had time to stew and prepare. And he needed to hash things out with Daniel, right now.

Initially, he'd planned to wait until he saw the younger man at the SGC the next morning. But over the course of the last three days, Jack had had a lot of time to think--too much time to be honest--and the more time that passed the more he came to realize he couldn't put this off any longer. For eight months he'd been avoiding Daniel, tap dancing around his own feelings and wallowing in denial. Now that he'd faced facts and acknowledged his true feelings, he found he simply couldn't wait. Perhaps it was the deep-seated fear that his resolve would fail and he'd lose his nerve again, just as he'd done after their night together. Perhaps it was superstition; now that he knew what he'd wanted and was ready to take action, it would forever be placed beyond his grasp like some kind of bad karma turning around and biting him on the ass.

He'd fucked up big time. He knew that, accepted it openly and without reservation. He'd been an absolute bastard and he'd hurt Daniel terribly and it would take more than a smile and an 'I'm sorry' to repair the damage he'd done to their friendship. But he was determined to do whatever was necessary to win back Daniel's trust, and more than that, his love.

When Jack had boarded the plane to DC six days ago, he never imagined that his entire world would be flipped upside down before the week was over. During the flight to DC, he'd finally acknowledged that he had to put things right between Daniel and himself. In truth he'd already come to that conclusion but he'd been at a loss as to how to accomplish it. He recognized the trip for what it was, an officially mandated bonding experience. Hammond wanted them reconciled and had given them the occasion to begin the process of mending fences. It was, without a doubt, the perfect opportunity. 

What Jack hadn't expected was a wake up call in the person of Major Paul Davis. He hadn't expected to find himself the complete outsider in Daniel's life and worse, to discover that his place as Daniel's friend had been usurped by another when he wasn't looking. It was an unwelcome revelation and had forced him to think seriously about his own actions that had caused the rift between them. That had been bad enough in and of itself but then Jack was forced to confront the grave possibility that Davis and Daniel had become more than friends. It was an idea that had haunted him from the moment it had surfaced, tormenting him, prickling like something pulling beneath the surface of his skin. And then he received the confirmation that he'd been dreading: Daniel and Davis were lovers. Daniel had invited Davis into his bed and there could be no doubt, no denial, because Jack himself had been reluctant witness to the consummation.

And it was then that Jack received the biggest revelation of all: he loved Daniel. He'd always loved him and despite everything that had transpired between them, he loved him still.

God help him. God help them both.

There was so much irony in all of this. For all his vaunted bravery in battle, Jack had been a fucking coward when it came to his own feelings. Daniel made him _feel_ , really and truly in a way he hadn't since Charlie had died. The warmth, the passion and above all the aching tenderness that Daniel sparked within him should have been a source of jubilation but instead it had scared him. No, it had fucking terrified him. It was too much, Daniel was too close and Jack simply couldn't bear it. So he'd pushed him away. Jack was safe once more but in the process he'd lost the very best part of himself. He'd lost Daniel.

And now he'd come to get him back.

Jack sighed. 'Easier said then done.'

Jack knocked on the door a second time, the tattoo of his knuckles on the hard wood sounding unreasonably loud in the silence of the hallway. This time Jack heard the soft shuffle of footsteps moving towards the door, followed by the double click of locks being turned. The door opened and there was Daniel standing there dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a loose tee shirt, his bare feet curling into the pile of the carpet. He hadn't known quite what to expect, but somehow this wasn't it. Daniel looked pale, his expression wary and his mouth tilting downward into a frown.

"Jack," Daniel greeted him, his tone neutral.

"Daniel," he replied. Jack offered a tentative smile before continuing. "Mind if I come in?"

Daniel stared at him for a long moment and suddenly Jack was afraid that Daniel would refuse him entry. Jack couldn't allow that. Now that he'd finally had his great epiphany he found he couldn't wait any longer to act upon it. Daniel held his gaze a moment longer before steeping back and to the side in tacit invitation.

Jack walked into the living room. He felt mildly unsettled being in this place where he'd spent many pleasant evenings but which had become proscribed in recent months. As he moved towards the couch his eyes fell on the open bottle of Scotch and the empty tumbler resting next to it.

"Been having a drink, Daniel?" Jack queried, trying to make it sound casual. Obviously he failed because Daniel's eyes narrowed and his expression hardened.

"What if I have?" Daniel shot back, challenge apparent in his voice and every line of his body.

'Shit.' This was not how he'd envisioned this conversation going. He'd been in the apartment for all of thirty seconds and he'd already managed to antagonize Daniel. Time to step back. He shrugged, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance.

"Feel like sharing?" he quipped, and as soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to shoot himself. 'Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What kind of a moron are you, O'Neill?' he chastised himself. Of all the things to say, he'd picked the exact words Daniel had used to gain entry to his home during the covert sting to bust up Maybourne's little off world operation. Things had been tense then too, but nothing like they were now. He held his breath, waiting.

If Daniel caught the significance of the words, he gave no sign, moving instead into the dining area to pull out a second tumbler which he handed to Jack before sitting on the far end of the sofa. Jack poured himself two fingers of Scotch, knowing he would need every ounce of courage-Dutch or otherwise-that he could muster. He titled the bottle in Daniel's direction in unspoken query. Daniel hesitated, then nodded, encouraging Jack to refill his glass as well. 

They sat there on opposite ends of the sofa not speaking. Jack was suddenly aware of soft music drifting from the general direction of the stereo. He heard the gentle tinkling of a piano and he recognized it as one of the Debussy "Arabesques." Not exactly his style, but he knew Daniel was very fond of them and actually found them to be very soothing.

Taking a sip of his drink, Jack steeled himself for what he knew was going to be a difficult conversation. "So? Did you have a nice weekend in DC?" he asking, praying it sounded sufficiently casual.

"Yes," came Daniel's reply.

'Short and sweet, huh?' suddenly Jack knew the conversation was going to be even harder than he expected. He tried again.

"I think the meetings went really well. I called Hammond right after I got back to let him know, but obviously he wants to talk to both of us. He asked us to meet in his office at 1000 to give him a quick rundown before the 1100 briefing."

"Fine."

"I just thought you'd like to know is all." Jack explained.

"You didn't have to come here for that, Jack. You could have left a message on my answering machine, saved yourself the trouble of coming all the way over here."

"No trouble." He took another sip of his Scotch, but didn't put the glass back on the coffee table. The feel of it, cool and smooth and oddly heavy, grounded him and helped him to hold unto the sense of purpose that brought him here in the first place.

"Actually, Daniel, I kinda wanted to talk to you about something."

"Oh?" Daniel asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise and Jack could almost here the unspoken rider, 'since when?'

"Yeah. Look, Daniel. Things haven't been too great between the two of us of late." He stole a quick glance at the other man who wasn't giving anything away. He continued. "And I know its been my fault. I..."

He suddenly faltered, unsure of how to explain. He stood, and started to pace, needing the movement to counter the torrent of thoughts and feelings racing through his mind. He could feel Daniel's eyes on him, tracking his motions, silent, wary.

"I hurt you, Daniel. I know that and I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I know there is nothing I can say or do to justify my actions and I can't just make it all go away, no matter how much I wish I could."

Jack took a deep breath and then he blurted. "Daniel, I love you."

All of the color drained from Daniel's face at the pronouncement. Jack didn't know if that was a bad sign or not and he held himself still awaiting Daniel's response.

"You bastard." Daniel's voice was low and strangely hard. "How dare you?"

"Daniel?"

"How dare you come here and say that to me?"

Jack shrugged his shoulders, trying to maintain his rapidly fraying calm. "Because it's the truth, Daniel."

Daniel laughed, a harsh, mirthless sound. "And this suddenly occurred to you?" he sneered, his voice still low. 

He sighed. "In a way, yeah. I guess I'd always known on some level but its only now that I've come to understand it."

Daniel's eyes narrowed and his face was suddenly as cold and unyielding as carved alabaster. "You know, don't you?"

Jack was confused. "Know what?"

"You know," he repeated. "About me and Paul. That's why you're here now, isn't it?" 

Now it was Daniel's turn to stand and pace. He prowled the length of the couch as restless as a jungle cat, and Jack knew, twice as dangerous.

"You son of a bitch. You can't stand it, can you?" Daniel accused, his eyes ripping into Jack. "The idea that someone else might want me, might care about me. For eight fucking months you treat me like a goddamned leper, barely tolerating my existence, but the second someone else shows an interest, you suddenly decide you want me."

He laughed, a harsh sound that seemed edged in razor wire. "Well, excuse me if I doubt your sincerity here, Jack. Its not as if you've given me even a hint that you cared whether I lived or died of late."

Jack winced inwardly, the barb hitting home with full force. Daniel was right. He had no reason to believe Jack under the circumstances. And suddenly he realized that his timing truly sucked. He was so ready to face his feelings for Daniel that he had failed to consider that maybe Daniel wouldn't want to hear about them, let alone accept them. God, he'd fucked up again.

He moved towards Daniel, reaching out a placating hand. Daniel immediately danced out of reach, his eyes flashing blue fire. "I'm sorry, Daniel. You've got every right to be angry with me. My timing sucks, I know, but what else is new?" he remarked self-deprecatingly. He took another deep breath. 

"Yes, I know about you and Davis. I should have seen it coming, would have seen it if I hadn't so busy pushing you away and being in denial."

Daniel's expression hardened further if such a thing were even possible. Jack swallowed and continued.

"And you're right about my timing. Its not a coincidence. Seeing you and Davis together, well...it hurt like hell. But it also forced me to finally confront my feelings about you. I've spent the last three days sitting in my living room thinking about you...about us...and I finally came to the undeniable truth that I love you. No, more than that, I'm _in_ love with you. What happened in DC between you and Davis was just the catalyst that made me own up to what's been in my heart all along."

Jack stood looking at Daniel, holding his breath. The room was absolutely silent now except for the sound of their breathing and the melancholy strains of Debussy in the background. He felt like a prisoner awaiting sentencing, knowing he'd already been found guilty, but praying nonetheless to receive the undeserved mercy of the court.

Daniel turned away from him and Jack could see the tension in every line of the other man's body and the thick knot of muscle clenching in his shoulders, visible through the thin cotton of his tee shirt. "Get out," he said softly, so softly Jack almost missed the words.

No, he couldn't leave, not now, not like this. He knew if he walked out that door right then, there would never be a way to set things right again.

"No," he said, his own voice firm.

"Get out!" Daniel demanded, his own voice rising in volume to match his obvious anger.

"I can't do that Daniel. I'm sorry."

Daniel turned at that, glaring at him fiercely, his eyes as hard and cold as glaciers. "Fine. If you won't leave, then I will." Daniel moved towards the door, his shoulder bumping into Jack as he passed.

No! Jack couldn't let him leave. He grabbed Daniel's arm, spinning him around, "Daniel..."

Jack got no further. Before he could utter another word, he felt the full force of Daniel's fist slamming into his jaw, sending his tumbling to the floor. He lay there for a few moments, literally seeing stars before his vision cleared and he regained some semblance of thought. He lay sprawled on the floor, one hand unconsciously rubbing at his aching jaw as he gazed up at the furious countenance of Daniel Jackson.

Daniel stood there, towering over him, his fists clenched at his sides so tightly the knuckles were white. His face, which had been pale before, was now flushed, and his eyes burned with a fury. Jack was stunned speechless. He'd seen Daniel angry before, but he'd never witnessed anything quite like this from the normally taciturn man. Nothing like the rage that he was witnessing now.

"You fucking bastard!" Daniel snarled down at him. "Don't touch me! Don't you ever dare touch me! You have no fucking right!"

Jack felt suddenly like a bug pinned to a display mount, unable to move beneath the harsh glare that held him.

"You have no right, Jack!" Daniel repeated. "I'm sick and tired of being your whipping boy and carrying around all your guilt for you. You might as well have pinned a scarlet 'A' to my chest for all that you've treated me like a goddamned pariah.

"You made a mistake. One night when you were drunk, you screwed your friend, your male friend and afterwards you felt, what? Guilty? Embarrassed? Fine, I can understand that. You got worried about your career and all that 'don't ask, don't tell,' crap. Fine, I get that too. You're career military, you've got a lot at stake, and a hell of a lot to lose if anyone ever finds out. I can understand that." 

He paused, the heat of his glare searing into a helpless Jack. 

"Then you freaked out about the whole 'gay' thing. Again, I can understand. You're straight, always have been and you wigged at the thought that maybe, just maybe you weren't as straight as you thought you were. Fine. That's pretty scary stuff to deal with. Then you go and start sniffing around Sam, trying to prove to yourself and anyone else in a five-mile radius what a big, macho stud you are. I can understand that too, though you are a fucking piece of shit to use Sam like that."

Jack couldn't escape the scorn in Daniel's voice anymore than he could the truth of his words. That was exactly what he'd done and hearing Daniel give the recitation of his sins against him felt like nails being driven beneath the skin.

But Daniel wasn't done. "I can understand all of that, Jack. I don't blame you for being afraid. What I can't forgive is the fact that you took away your friendship. I thought I could trust you, dammit. The one thing I'd always been able to count on was that you'd be there for me. But you weren't, were you? You pushed me away and you did everything in your power to make sure I understood that I no longer had a place in your life, that I was no longer permitted to be your friend. That's what hurt, Jack. I could have forgiven you anything so long as you still let me be your friend."

Jack still lay there on the floor and he watched as the rage began to dissipate and was slowly replaced by the hurt. He ached to see it. He wanted to turn away from the pain he saw written upon Daniel's face, but he knew to do so would simply add to his already sizeable list of crimes. He was responsible for this, the least he could do was face it.

Daniel drew a long shuddering breath, trying to maintain the control that seemed so ragged all of a sudden.

"And then, I finally find someone who seems to care, who seems to want me. I finally think I have a chance to find a little happiness, that I don't have to be alone anymore, and you manage to fuck that up as well."

He looked at Daniel, at the grief etched on his face. He was confused by Daniel's most recent accusation. What had he done to cause problems between Daniel and Davis? Granted, he hadn't exactly been a model of decorum around the junior officer, but he hadn't said or done anything overt. What was Daniel talking about? Daniel's obvious hurt spoke to him and he responded without thinking.

"Danny?" he asked in a soft voice.

Daniel's eyes widened and his anger flashed through the hurt like summer lightning. "Don't call me that!"

There was a fine tremor racing through Daniel's body, echoing the raw emotions displayed so plainly on his face. Jack carefully pulled himself off the floor, wincing slightly at the ache in his back and the throbbing in his jaw. He was going to have a hell of a bruise when he showed up on base tomorrow. He took a careful step towards Daniel who was now watching him with a mixture of fear and sullen resentment overlaying the hurt and anger from before. 

Jack moved slowly, so as not to startle the obviously wrought and skittish man. He had no doubt that Daniel wouldn't hesitate to belt him again if he felt threatened in the least. Under normal circumstances, he was pretty certain he could take Daniel, but in their current situation with emotions running high, he wasn't sure. Daniel was no lightweight and he could throw a wicked right cross, as Jack could now attest to from personal experience. He had no intention of finding out if he'd mastered the right hook and the uppercut as well.

"Daniel?" he asked, foregoing the earlier diminutive, as he stepped forward. Daniel continued to eye him warily, his breathing harsh and rasping. He took another step forward and then Daniel moved, shifting away from Jack. This time, however, he was prepared. He grabbed Daniel's arm and pulled the younger man towards him, wrapping his arms around him, pinning Daniel's own arms to his sides so he couldn't lash out again.

Daniel twisted and turned in his embrace, bucking against the arms restraining him. "Let go of me!" Daniel snarled, wriggling and twisting like a madman. "Let me fucking go, you son of a bitch!"

But Jack would do no such thing. He held onto the other man as if his life depended upon it because the simple truth was, his life _did_ depend upon this. 

Daniel's body had twisted completely around in his embrace so that his back was pressed up against Jack's chest. Daniel managed to free his right arm slightly and he pulled it forward, then brought his elbow back hard against Jack's ribs. Jack's breath was expelled in a sharp gasp, but before Daniel could take advantage of the move, Jack managed to tighten his grip around the squirming, bucking body. 

Daniel was cursing madly, turning the air blue with the sheer virulence of his epithets. Jack hung on, leaning forward to whisper in the other man's ear. "I'm sorry, Daniel. I'm so sorry."

It was all he said, all he could say really, under the current circumstances. Anything more would have to wait until Daniel stopped fighting him. It had now become a battle of wills as each man waited for the other to tire. But Jack held the advantage; Daniel's earlier emotional outbursts had already taken a toll. It was just a matter of time before the adrenalin that was fueling his rage burned itself out. All Jack had to do was hold on. For both of them.

When it happened, it happened with a suddenness that took Jack completely by surprise. One minute Daniel was fighting like a wild animal, the next he was practically slumped in Jack's arms like dead weight. The sudden shift threw Jack off balance as Daniel's knees seemed to give out from under him. Jack followed him down. They wound up on the floor in a tangle of limbs, with Jack braced against the back of Daniel's sofa, and Daniel pressed up against him, his hair soft against Jack's cheek.

They sat there for a long time, Jack's arms still holding him tight, while they regained control of their ragged breathing and Debussy played on. Jack found himself back where he'd been when he'd first arrived on Daniel's doorstep. He needed to talk, but he was uncertain as to what to say. This time, Daniel spoke first.

"He didn't want me." Daniel's voice was low and rough from screaming.

"What?" Jack prompted, keeping his voice as gentle as possible.

"Paul. He told me it wouldn't work out between us."

"Why not?" Jack felt unaccountably angry with the other man, despite his relief.

"He said I wasn't over you yet. He said I was still in love with you." 

"And are you?" he asked, trying to contain the desperate hope that suddenly rose up at Daniel's words.

The other man was very still in his arms. Jack waited as the silence stretched and his own heart lodged in his throat.

Finally after an eternity, Daniel spoke. "I...I'm not sure. I loved you so much and then you turned around and broke my heart."

Jack closed his eyes, tears stinging his lids at Daniel's confession. He'd loosened his embrace and his hands began to stroke soothingly up and down Daniel's arms almost of their own volition.

"I'm sorry, Daniel, more sorry than I can ever say. But I do love you. It took me forever to realize it, but now that I have, I'm not gonna to give up on you." He leaned in, his lips close behind Daniel's ear. "You're my world, Daniel and it took almost losing you to make me understand that I can't be without you. You're the very best part of me. You always were."

One of Jack's hands slid down to rest on one of Daniel's and squeezed it gently. Daniel's hand shifted in his until their fingers were twined together. They stayed like that for a long time, their hands clasped together before Jack lifted them and gently placed a reverent kiss on the back of Daniel's hand. 

"I was scared, Daniel. You made me feel too much and it scared the crap outta me. It wasn't your fault, ever, and I'm sorry that you were the one who had to suffer because I was too chicken shit to own up to my own feelings."

He paused, giving Daniel a chance to absorb his words, to weigh them and feel the truth they carried. There was too much at stake to play games or hide behind half-truths anymore. He could feel the solid weight of Daniel's body, the warmth of his skin radiating from beneath the thin cotton tee-shirt. He could feel the fine silk of Daniel's hair against his cheek and smell the scent of his skin, a unique blend of sandalwood soap, the light musk of his cologne, the hint of coffee that seemed to rise up from his pores as if secreted beneath the skin. In that moment Jack knew he held the world in his arms, strong as high tensile steel, fragile as spun glass and more precious than naquadah.

"I can't do anything about what's already happened. I wish to God I could. All I can do...we can do...is to go on from here. All I ask is that you give me another chance. Please, Daniel, let me love you."

Daniel turned in his arms, gazing up at Jack, his eyes bright with unshed tears, but clear, free of the bitter grief that Jack had instilled within their depths. Jack placed a kiss on his temple before leaning forward to place another on Daniel's lips. It was a chaste gesture that spoke a wealth of tenderness and simple affection. They held the kiss for a long, breathless moment as Jack's lips clung to Daniel's and Daniel's responded in return. When they pulled apart and Jack gazed once more into Daniel's eyes, he was dizzy with relief. No more words were spoken, they has ceased to be necessary in this time and place. The kiss was their covenant, a silent vow tendered in humility and devotion and accepted without reservation. It was enough for now. No, it was everything.

Jack gently threaded the fingers of his free hand into Daniel's hair, drawing the younger man's head down to rest on his shoulder, cradling him against his body in a loose embrace. With the lightest of touches, he stroked Daniel's hair, lulling him into a peaceful, exhausted slumber. Jack simply sat there, his back still braced against the sofa, Daniel's body a pleasant weight against his chest, feeling the soft exhalations of Daniel's breath against his neck. 

He turned his gaze towards the balcony doors. The drapes were thrown wide and he could see the darkness beyond, relieved only by a scattering of lights from nearby buildings. There was no moon tonight, but Jack didn't mind. He would stay here with Daniel and await the dawn. He knew that there was still much that needed to be said, so much pain that still needed to be excised before they could truly move on. They had established a truce this night. It was a fragile truce to be sure, but it was a beginning.

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Daniel's forehead and smiled. And when the sun rose, he and Daniel would talk. Later had finally come at last.


End file.
